


So I Think You've Got the Wrong Number

by WatteauYouDoing



Series: Gifts of the Magi [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen To Everyone, Fluff, Frisk and Chara fight over who gets to narrate, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, I'm finally delivering on what I promised, Murder, Other, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is occasionally Frisk for plot purposes, Sans/Toriel are the ultimate margarita bros, Slow Burn, Thaumatale AU, Things get weird, This is really really plot heavy btw, Violence, and there's tons of discussions about human magic vs. monster science, basically humans have this crazy culture of magic, gender neutral characters, i've basically crossed the dresden files with bloodborne and also a little umineko, mentions of suicide/suicide attempts, perspective switches, reader's gender not defined - if i do I Fucked Up, sweetheart Gaster, things get sad, wizard reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 99,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatteauYouDoing/pseuds/WatteauYouDoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a magician, and a human one, besides, so the world works a lot differently for you. So differently, in fact, that after a particularly odd phone call, you end up deciding to do the impossible - saving a man who has been cast out of reality itself.</p><p>You'll do it because you can. You'll do it because he needs you. And - maybe, you'll do it to be a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But We Can Talk For a Bit, Anyway.

When the phone rang, an effervescent bubble of relief filled you - that’d been exactly what you'd been praying for. The day was hot; warm, honey sunlight streamed in relentlessly through the windows of your little shop, casually illuminating languid clouds of dust motes. The swarm of books coating the shelves around you did little to diffuse the heat; in fact, mixed with the gooey patches of light, the overall effect was a sweltering humdrum. The air-conditioning had broken long ago, and despite your best efforts, it refused to stay fixed. The only thing cooling your little register was the tacky pink box fan mounted on the counter behind you, whose life-giving air you'd been leaning back into while contemplating your utter boredom. Calling the day slow would be an understatement; in fact, you'd only had three customers so far, and they'd all been dreadfully mundane. One had been looking for some object of childish nostalgia, the other had brought a box of books for you pick through and price. The third had gone on and on about the magic cheese he'd brought you, which you'd presumed filled the contents of the rottenly odored paper bag contaminating his person -- and... okay, to be fair, it was amusing, but the entire encounter only filled thirty minutes of your day. All a bit peculiar, really, you'd think your line of employment would bring some more entertaining characters into your shop.

To say you worked in a bookstore would be a bit of a… misrepresentation of the truth, but that was really your whole life summed up, wasn’t it? Any accurate explanation of your character would be quite long winded indeed, with a lot of interesting pauses and emphatic gestures. Perhaps a few diagrams, a potpourri of metaphors, and, dare I say, the phrase, “Look, don’t think about it, it’s magic, alright?”

Because that was the crux of the issue - that you were a magician, and a human one, besides, which came with a cartload of metaphysical bullshit. Magic stewed in your soul like a fluttering, golden bird inside the iron cage of your body. Except, sometimes the bird fell asleep, dreaming itself outside of that prison and, because the bird was gold, its dreams were real. See? Figurative language already. What a lot of garbage.

Monster magic made more sense, and it'd been interesting - to say the least - to encounter beings that didn’t need lies and deception and miracles, like you. They lived it, breathed it, used it in their everyday lives, relying on it like humans relied on their cars and their cellphones and their _potluck-forsaken air conditioning, dangit._ Due to their bodies being seeped in magic, they commanded it freely, but, then again, they didn't have the strength of spirit to blatantly cheat like you, either. Pros and cons, but clementines in a cracker barrel, it was the middle of summer and all you wanted was some climate-control like a normal human being. It sucked that technology hated you.

Anyway. Back to business. As with most trappings of the modern word, half the time, phones didn’t actually want to cooperate with you, so you didn't bother with things like "smartphones" and "cellphone plans". Instead, you used prepaid flip phones which - okay, yes, everyone thought you were a drug dealer, but it was better than having a really expensive paperweight. This way, you only had a moderately priced paperweight, that - somehow, you didn't want to question it - worked about fifty percent of the time.

Well. Fifty-percent plus static. Mmmn, good old white noise. "First-Story Books, how can I help you?" 

"Hey, Two-Bit," an easy voice crackled through the speaker, and you grinned, knowing things were about to get way more interesting. "Got a sec?"

"I've got an entire day, lay it on me and please make it good, I'm dyin' out here, Pete. Dying. Literally."

"Literally. That sounds like a problem."

You spin in your rolly-chair, because why would you not. "It is. Big problem. Also, that's some demonic screaming you got there, buddy, what're you doing - got a curse? A haunting?"

"Neither, interestingly enough. You’ll see when you get here. You are coming, right?"

A brief pop of screaming burst through the phone, which you pulled away from your ear with a wince. You take a moment to reply. “Is the current president Jimmy Carter?”

“...Erm, no.”

You huff. “Look, quit it with your logic and governmental history, Gertrude, just… Gimmie. This interference is getting wicked bad, it’s probably going to drop soon.”

They did, and, soon after you’d received the directions, the interference rose to an unsettling crescendo and cut. What a pain.

You grabbed your things and set on your way.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Sarah,” you called out, lofting an easy hand as you approached. They turned, looking back at you with a pensive expression before turning to contemplate the park. You settled on the sidewalk beside them, glancing at their profile before facing the same direction, and you noticed it almost immediately. “Woah. This is very…”

“...Oppressive?” They supplied, and you shook your head. A short _tch_ sound split through the air, and the world turned grey, for a moment, pooling in certain areas - like all the color had been bled out of everything and condensed into an erratic collection of dots. After a flicker, everything was back to normal, and you rubbed at your eyes.

“Not quite the word I was looking for, but I guess it works. Any casualties?” You looked around, hands firmly in your pockets. You didn’t see any blood or viscera - in fact, the park and the surrounding sidewalks were completely devoid of people.

“No. Interestingly enough, no one seems to acknowledge this park’s existence. I’ve been watching it for… oh, two hours, now, and not a single civilian has even looked at it, much less entered. I asked someone about it, and they acted like I’d suddenly started speaking French. In fact… check your map. Look at this area.”

You raised your eyebrows but did as requested, reaching into your shoulder-bag to retrieve the paper map. As antiquated as real, physical maps were these days, they were pretty necessary if you ever got lost. Couldn’t rely on cell-phone apps, after all. Lightly, you hummed to yourself as you scanned the roads, and then, you paused, squinting.

“It’s… not here,” you noted, flicking your gaze back and forth across the area, and then glancing over to the green signs marking the intersection for confirmation.

You needn’t have bothered, though, as the wizard beside you nods. “Yeah. I'm sure it was labeled there, once, I remember it pretty clearly. But now? It’s like... “ Another vicious fizzling sound, and your vision seemed to shift a bit in the grey. It was longer now before things righted themselves. “...the entire area doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Have you been in?”

“Not yet. This is odd enough that I wanted someone else to know about it first.”

“Mm. That why you called me?” you ask as the world turned monochrome again. Odd. It messed up sound a little, too, garbling it like your words were being run through a blender. You couldn't see any birds in the park, either, nor any squirrels, or butterflies, or… anything living. Yet, it didn't feel like a place given to the dead. More like... nothing should exist there at all.

“Partially. I also wanted to see if you could see all this, or if I could just because I have memories here. Perhaps magic allows us to resist the effects of this… anomaly.”

“Have you seen any monsters pass by?”

It’s your “friend’s” turn to squint. “Mmn. Good point. I’m uncertain - but our souls are different, anyway, so it might not matter.”

“Well,” you shift a little in the heat, shielding your eyes and glancing up at the sky. “Okay. I’ll go in, I guess.”  
  
“Excuse me?”

You grin at your companion. “Awwh, Jebediah, are you worried? Nah, I mean, one of us has to, unless we want to call in some other people… and that’ll just end up with us tittering in a circle like some kind of weird cabal. I am not about that life.”

Many-Names shifted a dubious look in your direction. “While you do have a point… do you really want to? This is my territory and, technically, my problem.”

 _Tch._ The park has gotten greyer, now, as you’ve been talking. “Exactly why I’d rather go in. Whatever time-space putzup happened, your memories will keep this place far better anchored than mine.”

“That is true,” they affirmed in a voice that makes it obvious they'd arrived at the same conclusion as you. The token resistance was just a formality - a polite way of asking you to take care of this without really saying as such. Not that you minded; it sounded kind of fun.

“I’ll figure out what’s going on. Still, though, you’d better take me to eat something nice after, eh?”

“Hah,” they let out a short, mirthless laugh, leaning back on the balls of their feet. “Just for you, Two-Bit. Don't try to fix the problem, okay? Just get some information and come back.”

"Right,” You cracked your knuckles, the world fizzling around you as you stepped forward. “I’ll be relying on you, okay?”

They make a short, noncommittal noise, simply crossing their arms and watching.

You stepped onto the grass, your footfalls completely soundless, like the noise had been stolen or just... turned off. Bizarre. The wind made no noise as it brushed through the trees, and you could hear only the ever-growing static as you ventured deeper into the faded expanse. It was a nice park, with a rather expansive playground that felt _so wrong_ to see empty, given how firmly entrenched in Summer the city was. The assembled oaks cast shadows that looked too deep, too dark, like if you stepped into them, you'd fall into the center of the earth. You looked around, wandering across the park with slow, careful steps.

 _Tcccccch_. A long burst of incoherent shifting roiled through the park and, this time, and it made you nauseous. Head pounding, you had to stop, for a moment, and steel yourself against the overwhelming feeling of disconnect. Briefly, you couldn't quite remember why you were here rather than your sweltering bookstore. A glance back at Many-Names righted you, however.

"Two-Bit! What's happening?" Their voice sounded incredibly distant, like you were hearing it from across a chasm - no, more like it was muffled by something. Had you passed some sort of barrier without realizing it?

You called back, resisting the urge to vomit. "I keep having to tell myself why I'm here. Whatever it is, it's trying to make me forget. Uhh, I don't get the feeling it's sentient, though. Not a spirit, or anything."

They paused to mull over this, then suddenly shouted, "Come back!"

"Why?"

"It's getting worse!"

You shrugged, turning to return, but as you strode past the sandbox, something gave you pause. A soft, cheerful chime emerged from your pocket, and you could feel vibrations shuddering against your leg. Considering the complete silence around you, the sound struck you particularly. You shifted, removing the flip-phone from your pocket and eyeing its screen dubiously. Someone was definitely calling, but not only was a number that you didn’t recognize, it was a number that made no sense, being comprised only of sixes.

Many-Names was less inclined to deal with this than you. "I'm serious, get back here! Everything's gone completely grey!" Their voice sounded authoritative rather than concerned; you kind of doubted that they cared intimately about your fate.

A glance around you showed that, yes, they're right, but you were far too curious to stop now. "I've got something!" You flipped the phone open with your thumb and brought it to your ear. Fierce static greeted you, along with a strange, high, flickering sound that occasionally pierced the noise. It kind of reminded you of a dial-up connection. “Y’ello?"

 

You could almost pick out the sound of someone breathing if you listened really, really intently. Just when it seemed like the call would disconnect without anything being said, a voice emerged from the speakers.

Well. Not quite a voice, rather, a series of hums and clicks and dings that, if you squinted and turned your way of processing noise inside out, formed passable words. _“Who are you?”_

“Complicated question! Most people call me Two-Bit." You looked around as you spoke, trying to note any more changes in your surroundings.

 _"What are you?"_   The voice scratched out, and you couldn’t keep down a short laugh. What a loaded question.

"A purveyor of miracles. A wizard." You could see Many-Names getting antsy, their mouth moving like they were shouting at you again. However... you couldn't hear anything. Everything had gone quiet except you and the phone. It was like being underwater.

A staticy pause. _"Where... are you?"_

"Mm. Well, I’m supposed to be in Melbourne Park… but something’s gone a little funny with that, you see, it seems to be in the process of ceasing to exist. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” You spoke with casualness that you didn’t quite feel, at the moment. If you let yourself act scared, this situation would get out of control very quickly.

 _“I’ll try to…”_ A violent crackle cut out some of the words. _“...shouldn’t be possible...”_

You stared at the ground for a moment. Where were you? What day was it? --No, shit! Pay attention!

“Who are you?”

A pause - and you weren’t sure if he was going to reply at first. _“Doctor W. D. Gaster, former royal scientist.”_ You could discern a strange warmth in the other being’s voice, like saying those words just made him so happy.

“What are you?”

 _“Nonexistent,”_  he replied in a somewhat self-derisive tone. Interesting.

“Where are you?”

 _“Someplace beyond time and space.”_ Fzz. A sprinkle of colored dots spread across your vision, like you’d been staring straight at the sun before looking away. The call was starting to get incoherently garbled again, and you focused, desperately trying to make out the words. _“Ahh, the connection… don’t think I...”_

“Do you need help?” you asked. There was no reply, so you repeated louder, “Do you need help!”

_“...please… forget this happened…”_

That sure sounded like _I need help_ to you. And - above all your other traits - you had to admit... that you had a teensy weensy bit of a hero complex.

"Okay! I'm coming for you! Don't do anything, and stay on the line!" You spoke boldly, although you didn't really know what, exactly, you were about to do. That was okay, though; that was basically how magic worked. Okay - time to think. You were in the middle of a time-space anomaly of unknown origins that was currently attempting to remove your location from what you knew as "reality". Easy enough. Stepping into this anomaly allowed someone to contact you, and, given the way this someone spoke, he was likely someone who had also been removed from reality.

So, basically, all you had to do was find him and show him the way home. Great. Easy. Now, how exactly were you going to slip out of reality? You had a really bad feeling about just waiting to disappear naturally. The nebulous _it_ had almost made you forget why you were here a few times, and if you forgot for good, you knew you wouldn't be able to get home again. So. You needed  _initiative_.

What you really needed was to find exactly where this W. D. Gaster was - or, rather, a door that could take you straight there, and then back again. Which, now that you thought about it, was doable.

You did have him on the phone, after all, and this was already the site of a large temporal distortion. You just had to believe really, really hard... and maybe everything would be okay.

 _"What do you mean? You can't..."_ Fuzz.

"Keep talking! Tell me about yourself! Indulge me, please!"

_“But…”_

You had to focus. After taking a deep breath, you said, “Just go with it!”

You could see Many-Names gesticulating quite vibrantly in your direction, and you paused to give them a big grin and a thumbs up to show that, yep, no need to worry, you got this. They looked fervently pissed but hey, not your circus, not your monkeys.

That was a lie. This was your circus. These were your monkeys. You’d probably get yelled at for this.

_"What should I... about?"_

"Anything!" You chirped, looking around. Okay. You needed a doorway, and you were in the middle of a park that had no buildings whatsoever. Plenty of benches, quite a few lovely trees, a nice, wide open space perfect for frisbee... but you needed a door -- "Tell me what you like! Tell me what you're scared of! Tell me who you love! I bet that's cute."

_"Y-you... you ... what?"_

"Talk!" You demanded, eyes focusing on the slide. Oh my god, you were never going to live this down if it didn't work. You sprinted towards it.

 _"Uh, I, I enjoy... reading...."_ Fzzt. _"...before..."_

"Before?" You heaved yourself up the too-small steps, quickly clambering up to the metal platform.

_"Before this happened to me."_

"What else do you like?" You sat your butt down on the top of the slide, and then reached into your pocket, pulling out your lighter. Idly, you clicked it open as you listened to Gaster’s voice, watching the flame - which, interestingly enough, still retained its color.

Being a magician was like being permanently eight and thinking a magical land awaited you through the closet and under the bridge. It was about doing ridiculous things just because you had the determination to do so. It was about miracles, and…

_“Well, ah, I… I like tea, and, ah, my brothers, of course, oh, I… enjoy math -- this is all very embarrassing…”_

...occasionally, saving cute people from extradimensional torment.

“Keep talking,” you murmured as you closed your eyes. Lighter held close to your chest, you began your slide into the dark. “And believe.”

_“...It’s very nice to to speak with someone…”_

You focused on the voice. The light went out, then --

\-- you were somewhere else. --

“After all this time, it’s -- ah!”

Your legs slid against the floor, and you landed face-first in an abyss of white.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've retroactively started illustrating the earlier chapters of the fic -- however, by no means do you have to imagine the main character the way I draw them! I really enjoy seeing everybody's interpretations of our intrepid protagonist.


	2. But, Hey, It Happens to Everyone Sometime, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoops.

"Oh, oh goodness, are you alright? Please tell me you're alright."

You pushed off the ground - well, rather, the white space that functioned as the ground - with your hands, sitting up and trying to focus on that sound. Voice. Impolite to think of it as just sound, even though it didn't have the trappings of any kind of speech you'd ever heard before. Piecing it together was a trial unto itself, particularly due to the fierce, popping static that overlaid his speech, although, really, he seemed so concerned about your well being that you don't mind the effort.

Oh, right. You looked up.

A nebulous _figure_ loomed over you, body swathed in curling dark - at least, until you got to his face, pure bone white and framed by a cream turtleneck. Altogether a highly disorienting effect, and you had to wince before your eyes could focus properly. Large cracks split down his skull and across his cheek, and one eye looked like it'd been a bit... squashed. You decided not to comment, as that would be super rude, and you were only mildly rude, thank-you-very-much.

The pinpricks of light dancing in his dark eye sockets met your gaze, and his mouth pulled back in an expression you processed as 'worry'. "Are you hurt? Can you stand?"

He extended his hands to you - skeletal fingers spread out, with palms you could see clear through. Ow. You moved to settle your hands into his, accepting the aid, however, the merest brush of your fingertips against his sparked immediate regret.

For a moment, you were not here, not there, but everywhere. For a moment, you felt like you'd been torn to pieces in one singular breath. For a moment, you could see -- _something_ bizarre regarding your surroundings and the monster before you, but the entire encounter was too brief for you to tell what, exactly, it was, as immediately the figure -- presumably, Doctor Gaster -- pulled back away from you with a startled squeak.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I -- "

You reached out, firmly securing your hands around his boney fingers. The sensation returned, and it was _excruciating_. Interestingly enough, you couldn't hear the static like this.

"Please let go, please," he struggled, trying desperately to wrench his hands from your grasp. "Why are you doing this? You'll end up like me!"  It was a warm series of notes, gentle, and a bit like rubbing a soft, smooth rock with your thumb.

Of course, it currently felt like your head was being caved in by some sort of sickening pressure, so you weren't exactly in the mood to appreciate it. "I won't," you lied smoothly, because really, you had no idea. You felt squeezed between two things, two _concepts_ of existence, and around you could see... flecks and fragments of other places and other times, none of which you recognized. Lurking between these scraps of memory was the deep, pure shadow of metaphysical concept, out of which long, thin spikes emerged, pinning Gaster in place. If you focused on them intently, you could see... -- and hear! and smell and taste and touch -- other things and other places, all reverberating in your head. Hot damn.

You let go, having seen enough for now, and immediately your body crumpled to the floor. You could hear soft, distressed noises from Dr. Gaster, who bent over your form as much as he was able, considering his... condition. You flopped onto your back and opened your eyes a bit, peeking up at him. "Don't worry, 'm okay. It's just floor time."

You felt like Athena had just crawled out of your head, leaving a gaping hole in her wake. Hurk. With a careful touch, you massaged your temple, processing everything that you'd seen.

"Floor time?" He sounded baffled, which, y'know, how dare he, you were pretty sure he was the most baffling person in the room. Void. Space. Thing.

"What, you've never wanted to just commune with the ground and receive its grand wisdom?" A pause, and Dr. Gaster's confusion only seemed to grow. "That was a joke, by the way. I'm not speaking to the ground. Uh, yet. You certainly do have yourself in a pickle though, don't you?"

"I -- hah," he smiled a little, as if amused by the understatement. "Yes, you could say that."

"You're a monster, right? Body made of magic?" You linked your arms behind your head, making a pillow out of them as your stare up at him.

Another nod. Then, he narrowed his non-droopy eye a little, pursing his mouth in a way that appeared quizzical. "Are you... human?"

"Correctamundo." You beamed. "Did you end up like this before the barrier was broken?"

Gaster nodded, and -- from his lack of surprise about your question -- you could draw some conclusions.

"But you knew it happened. Are you aware of what's happening in the outside world?"

"Sort of. It's, ah, complicated."

You flicked your gaze up and down his form. "Yeah, I'll bet. So, I'm here to help you, but I'm not quite sure what I'm dealing with, yet. Mind... filling me in, I guess? As best as you're able."

"I..." He looked helplessly at his hands, and then at you. "Help me? I... well. Normally, I would assure you that wasn't possible, but, well, you being here shouldn't be possible at all, so..."

You laughed. "It's best to just play along. Believe I can save you, and I'll be able to save you, alright? I just need some help to get it all straight."

Gaster fidgeted. "Goodness, where do I start? This is all very sudden, I hope you realize. I never... thought I'd speak to someone again. I'm a little overwhelmed."

Man. _He_ was overwhelmed. You'd wanted something exciting, but you hadn't quite bargained for this. "Well. You said you were nonexistent over the phone. Let's start there."

He mulled over this for a moment, and then seemed to find his voice. "Very well. Are you familiar with the Core, by chance?"

"No. Sounds a little ominous, though."

"Ha... well, it was my grand design; a way of converting geothermal energy into magic, enough magic to power the entire Underground. Huge, and complex... and my crowning achievement, of sorts. And, ah, I fell in."

"...fell in?" You sat up at this, having somewhat recovered your energy. The vicious headache had subsided, at least, although you still felt sick to your stomach.

"I, ah, yes. I fell." Liar, liar! Well. You didn't have time for a complicated tale of intrigue, anyway, you just needed the basics. "And, when I fell, I was... scattered across time and space, and it was like I had never existed at all."

"Scattered," you repeat, thinking of how he was pinned in place. Hmn. "How?"

"My best guess is that the Core turned everything - including the concept of my existence - to pure magical energy, which created an exception that couldn’t be handled by any of the main processes of reality. So, my label was delegated to… this, and, in the process, all references to my existence were eliminated.”

“Wait, no one can remember you exist?”

“Ah, no.” He smiled slightly, in a way that suggested good-humor in the face of abject misery. “It is like the world has gone on without me… and nothing is different for my absence.”

You grinned, which, in hindsight, was probably an off putting expression given the situation. Still, this was exactly what you needed, and confirmed some of your suspicions. “Great! I mean, no, that’s horrible, I’m sorry, but I think I’ve figured out how to help you.”

“You… what? How?” Disbelief soaked his words. You’d need to change that.

“Okay… explaining this might be hard, since you’re one of those science types. So, let me start with a question. Do you know how to get out of here?”

“No.” Of this, he seemed absolutely certain. “I have no idea. How can I place myself back into existence, when the spot designated for me has been… overwritten?”

“A tricky problem,” you say as you stand. “Now, let me ask another question. How did you call me?”

He paused, having to take a moment to mull this over - or, perhaps, he’s just gathering his words, you weren't certain. “I am… stuck, in this place, by something that I have no name for - like tubes, of a sort. On one end, my consciousness lingers, and on the other, are… memories, places that I am familiar with and can still view. Right before I spoke with you, I felt a new 'tube' form, and this was exciting enough that I tried to interact with it… perhaps manifest myself, even. Apparently, that interference was processed as a phone call. And so, I spoke with you.” He gave you a sort of jerky half-shrug. "All rather vague, I apologize. I haven't been able to study the phenomenon with much detail."

"No, no, that makes perfect sense. Your personal impressions are the most important thing here. Tubes, eh?"

As you stop to ponder the ramifications of this, he spoke. "Is it alright if I ask you a question, now?"

"Oh? Oh, yeah, shoot, bet you have a million."

"What did you use to get here?"

"Mmn? Oh." You reached into your pocket, pulling out your lighter and waving vaguely with it. "This. When you called me, you formed a connection between us. Imagine it… like you’re inviting a friend over for lunch. That “tube” of yours functioned as both the invitation and the destination. So, all I had to do was find a door - since doors are objects of transition - and make the destination “where Gaster is”. Except, there weren’t any doors, so I used a tunnel and this lighter. See -- it’s either lit or not, so all I had to do was make the flame represent where I was now, and it being extinguished mean that I’d gone somewhere else. Then, all I had to do was follow the tunnel!”

“In fact!” You continued, gesturing at him with the lighter. “This is step one of getting us home. All I need to do from here is find a symbol of transition, and also figure out how to cure your immobility.”

For a moment, Gaster just _gaped_. Your explanation, apparently, did not please him. “What -- what. What? That -- how does that _work_ , what about your mass? Did you turn your body into pure magic? Did you somehow access the temporal code and -- fire doesn’t -- you can’t just -- _what about the energy conversion_?“

“Woah! Woah woah, hold up there, friendo, if you think too hard, _you’ll_ catch on fire. ‘Sides, I’m dumb as a post, throwing around that fancy science junk won’t do much good with me.” You tried to placate his frustration with an easy smile. “I don’t think in those terms. I used magic. You probably shouldn’t question it beyond that.”

He moved his hands kind of uselessly. “Wh… bu.. but magic has _rules_ \-- oh, this is useless. It must work somehow, you just don’t understand the principles behind it.”

You laughed. Goodness. Just your luck to get one of these types. “Well, you’re probably right about that. If you study it long enough, and think hard enough, you might be able to come up with an explanation that fits nicely in with your Scientific Worldview. But you shouldn’t.”

Somewhat taken off guard, Gaster asked, “Why not?”

“Because you might explain it wonderfully, and in your heart and in your mind, overwrite my Magic Worldview with your Scientific Worldview. So, say that you figure out a way to explain my existence here in a way that’s satisfactory to all of your scientific principles. Great. You’re satisfied. But _what if_ you figure out that my existence, right here, right now, standing in front of you and speaking to you… is impossible?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, “You’re here. It has to be possible.”

“Ah-ah! It’s only possible because of my Magic Worldview. It’s possible because, in my way of doing things, in my way of thinking and understanding the world, I’ve figured out a way to reach you, with hope and magic and determination. But… if you supplant my worldview by finding the 'correct answer?' Well. You’ll create a paradox. And -- as your current state is a testament to -- _the system doesn’t like paradoxes_.” You smiled. “In essence, I’ll disappear, having never been able to do this in the first place, because you proved it impossible. Now, let me pose something else to you."

You paused, waiting for his reaction. He stared dumbly at you. Oh well, at least he wasn’t protesting. “What if, in your scientific theory, it’s impossible to save you? Are you really okay with that? Wouldn’t you rather believe in my theory, the Theory of Magic, and be saved?”

“That -- that… that… _that can’t be right_!” He desperately proclaimed, a final stand against your version of the truth. “That’s… that’s insane. That sounds insane. Different worldviews? There’s -- there’s just science! There has to be sound, scientific principles behind what you’re doing, and _it doesn’t matter what happens, I’ll find it_ \-- “

You giggled behind a hand. “Wowie! It’s super clear how you ended up here, now. Didn’t you say you had brothers?

Immediately, Gaster deflated, the finger pointing at you lowering. “I -- “

Linking your hands behind your back, you twirled lightly. Each word you speak seemed to drive an arrow deeper into his heart. “They’ve forgotten you, haven’t they? No -- no… not even reality can completely eliminate love. I’m sure they remember that unconquerable feeling, deep inside their souls. I’m sure it feels unbearably hollow, bearing those scattered remnants with nothing to associate them with. Like… the feeling there should be another place at the dinner table, but not understanding why. Like not being sure why there’s an extra, empty room in your house. Like knowing that someone you loved so, so dearly loved a song that just came on the radio, but when you try to think of their name, all you get is… nothing. That sort of thing happened to them, didn’t it?”

He was silent, staring at the ground. You twist your body, bending and leaning over so you can see his eyes. Still wearing that ferociously pleasant smile, you asked, “Is that really okay with you?”

“No,” he mumbled, body shuddering.

“So,” you gently pressed. “Wouldn’t you rather accept me for what I am -- a wizard, who will bring about a miracle -- than continue to exist like this?”  
  
“I -- “ the misery in his voice stirred some pity in you. It isn’t an easy thing to completely abandon your principles, not for anything… even though you assume those principles are what brought him here in the first place. “I… they’ve… moved on… without me… I’ve messed up too much.”

You stood up straight. “Hey. Look at me.”

He does not, so you press once more, “Hey. I mean it.”

Reluctantly, Gaster did so, bringing those pricks of light up to your face. You smiled - more sincerely, this time. You’re not trying to make him feel like garbage now. Extending a hand out to him, you speak. “There is hope. There’ll be sad things in your future, yes, but also wonderfully happy things. There’ll be reunions, heartbreaks, laughs and tears, sorrow and -- most importantly -- love. That’s what makes the future so amazing and so terrifying at the same time. But… you can achieve nothing without risk. Magic cannot be brought forth without risk, and life is magic itself. There _is_ a future for you, Doctor Gaster. The world has a place for everyone, and -- if it doesn’t, for you? _I’ll make it_. So, please believe in me, and let me give you back your future.”

Black globules spilled out from his eye sockets, and you think they are tears. “I’m… so afraid,” he murmured, beginning to reach out for you.

“I’m here,” you replied, and you took his boney fingers with one hand. The pain began immediately, crushing you and choking you, but you’re expecting it this time. "I'm here."

"I don't understand at all," he said through the tears. "But I want to see Papyrus and Sans, again. I want to be with my little brothers, so, so much."

You linked your fingers through his, and with your other hand, you reached into your bag, fiddling around and pulling out a vial full of a philtre you’d brewed some days prior. "Remember that feeling. It'll take you home." After uncorking it with your teeth, you down it, tasting chamomile and the sun, and then you reach out for one of the pins holding Gaster in place.

As you secure your hand around the spike, you can’t restrain a shudder at the intense nausea filling you. Apparently, reaching through time and space was hard on the stomach. You pulled on it sharply, like you’re trying to reel in a fish, and lights danced before your eyes like sunspots. God, was this even going to work?

You had to believe.

“What -- what are you doing?” he gasped out as you force the spike into him.

“I’m trying to return what was taken,” you managed, each word a struggle against the weight of cosmic regulation. “You answered one of my questions wrong.”

“Which -- “ he paused, and you found the end of the line, yanking it towards you with a heavy jerk. “Which one?”

“What are you?” With a trembling arm, you grasped for the endpoint of the line - a gray fragment, an ashen piece of a broken heart. You take it, feeling its warmth in your palm, and push it - along with the last bit of the spike-  into Gaster. The pressure lessened, a little. The world quieted. “Because, before me, you exist right now. So, what are you?”

“I don’t… goodness, that, that hurts, are you… are you certain this is right?”

You reached for another spike. Another “tube” -- hah, what a scientific word.

“Yes. Once, before this, you were a vase.” You leaned in. Everything hurt, like it had always hurt and would never stop hurting. “When you shatter a vase, for a time, the vase still exists as a concept - the memory of it being whole. Eventually, that memory fades, and all that remains are shattered pieces, You are that memory, but… what keeps you from fading?” Another fragment returned. Your voice grew weak, but the feeling of wrongness faded as you worked. You just had to keep going.

“I don’t… know,” he murmured near your ear. He can lean forward more, now that his shoulder had been freed.

“It’s the very fragments of your existence, ironically enough, that are keeping you here now. You can’t fade while they still exist, but you can’t move while they’re apart from you. You’ll suffer here forever until they’re returned. I will return them to you, and make you more than a memory.”

He laughed softly, and that warm sound made everything worth it. “That’s an awfully complicated way of saying you’re putting a vase back together again.”

Another. “This is a complicated situation. I’m fixing you, freeing you, and returning something lost to you, all at once”

“I suppose. You’re very strange, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” you protested, the sound drowned by another gasp from Gaster. Some pain was necessary, yes, but the sound still tore at your heart. “You’re… the weird one.”

He didn’t reply, and, at this point, you didn’t have the energy to focus on anything but your work. Steady, steady, bit by bit, you reclaimed his fragmented existence, occupying the same space as him in a fragile, tenuous balance. You could feel your knees weakening, your legs trembling, and you’re not sure whether or not Gaster realized this or if he simply needed something to hold on to, but he reached out with the hand not occupied by your own, firmly clamping his arm around your back. “Thank you,” he breathed out softly, and it took you a moment to remember that this was the first time he’d been able to move in… quite awhile.

The pressure had subsided, and although you could feel the heavy reverberations of pain shaking through your head and trembling down your spine, you could breath now. Glad for this, you reached out for the final pin. This one was different, and you’d saved it for last, simply because you weren’t… quite sure what was going to happen when you interacted with it.

It was the one connecting Gaster to Melbourne Park, and -- you theorized -- was why it’d been disappearing in the first place. Somehow, the park had been tied to Gaster; by what means, you weren’t sure. Perhaps the doctor had done it by mistake, but…

...Something made you uneasy.

“Hey, Gaster?” you mustered up your voice. “You said this one just… formed. Does it feel like the others?”

“No.”

“How do you feel?”

He breathes in deeply. “Exhausted. That experience hurt, quite… a lot. But. I feel more… here.”

“Not like something is missing?”

“I… no?” He looks at where your hand is resting, finally starting to piece things together. “Is something strange?”

You licked your lips, thinking. “Walk with me,” you say, beginning to shuffle to the side, keeping a hand on the strange, foreign presence, pulling … whatever it is, out of Gaster. He followed you obediently, still keeping an arm around you. You could hear his breathing quicken once more with pain.

“Is… this -- I… I feel like something is being pulled out of me,” he looked at you at this, mouth tight. “Is -- is that fine?”

You swallow. “Yeah, well, that’s basically what’s happening. It’s fine,” you lied smoothly. You weren’t really sure what this was going to do - other than it felt like it had to be done. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to put it back into him.

You’d only walked a few paces when you managed to fully extract the line from Gaster’s side. It came out with a somewhat ugly sounding _squish,_ and, despite knowing that monsters didn’t bleed, you half-expected to see crimson anyway. You didn’t, luckily. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it together if you did.

(Blood was very deceptive, after all.)

“Okay,” you murmured, dropping the tendril letting the experience finally take its toll. You felt empty, and you probably could fall asleep right here, right now. Even so, realizing that so much of your weight was against him, you pull away a little. You shouldn’t appear so weak. To cover it up, you smiled up at him. “Done.”

“That… amazing. I have no idea what you just did, but I -- I feel… Well, actually, I sort of want to sleep for a week, but after that I think I’ll feel amazing. Comparatively.”

“Hah. I understand.” You massage your temple, focusing on the warmth of the sun curling in your stomach. Strength, perseverance, glory.

His hand still lightly lingered on your waist. Noticing your glance down at it, he flinched, pulling it back quickly and brushing himself off. “Ahem. I. Apologize, I wasn’t, ah, I wasn’t, I mean, ahh…”

The way his face turned so _delightfully_  grey in what you assumed must be a blush amused you, but you couldn’t focus on it for long. You could feel something dripping in between your fingers, dark and murky, and then - and then, it reached, sliding up your wrist. You brought up your hand, staring at the sludge, and then looked around quickly.

Nearby, the stray thorn, that out of place tube had morphed into some sort of dark material, and - before you released it - it’d left some imprint on the warmth of your skin. Now, it spread, a dark mire swirling up around your feet. Something had changed, a chill prickling across your skin. The world had gotten a bit _greyer_ , all around.

“Um,” you breathed out, staring.

“What? What’s -- “ he looked down, noticing the growing dark. “Oh. This is new.”

_Fzzzzt._

“Ah. We. We need to leave,” you said with absolute certainty, turning quickly. As you step, there’s a frightful squelching sound.

The air smelled of blood.

“How do we…?”

“I need a door. Or, or a passageway, or -- a connection to the real world. Some sort of -- symbol of transportation. Or, um, oh, popcorn.”

“You... need popcorn?”

You rustled around in your bag, looking desperately for something to combat the malice rising up to your ankles. “No! I’m swearing! Oh, poppies, what is this? Do you smell that?”

“Smell… what?"

“It’s suffocating,” your murmured, finding a silver dime among your things. You pressed it between your hands, breathing on it, and then dropped it into the pit.

It was swallowed without hesitation.

_How far you go to satisfy your beastly curiosity…_

(And with that voice, the taste of blood lingered in your mouth.)  
  
You coughed into your elbow, looking up at Gaster. “I -- “

“ -- Would it be easier for you to leave without me? It would, wouldn’t it? Please, go! You’ve done… so much for me, already. You should leave me.” He placed his hands on your shoulder, shoving you away. “Please, please go. Please!”

The black rose, and the world got darker. Darker, darker, yet darker, and it sang to you. It sang to you both, given how forcefully he was trying to force you to leave him in despair. This --

\-- was this what had tried to drag Melbourne Park into obscurity?

You scrambled into your pocket, grabbing the lighter with a shaky hand. You needed light. You needed hope. You needed --

For someone to call your name, and you could feel it, in your heart. Someone wanted you home. “Many-Names,” you whispered, eyes going wide. Gaster was still begging you to leave him behind. To be honest, you’d sort of tuned him out. Turning sharply, you reached out, throwing your arms around his neck.

“You deserve to liii----ehh?” he choked a bit, gasping.

“Hold on!” He didn’t obey, at first, until you shouted at him, “Tight!”

Throwing your weight down, you dragged Gaster into a fall. It was one of the most basic forms of transition - a fall. Like Alice going down the rabbit hole, slipping into another world. Not realizing what was happening, Gaster made a high-pitched sound of alarm, holding on tightly to you. You close your eyes, and behind his head, you click the lighter open.

The flame burned bright in the darkest dark. It burned behind your eyes, and in your heart, and you followed the sound of someone screaming your name.  
  
“TWO-BIT YOU FUCKING IDIOT, I SWEAR TO WHATEVER GODS ARE FUCKING LISTENING, I AM GOING TO END YOU.”

You felt the warm sun. You felt the humid air. You heard the sound of cars, of birds, and of your fellow magician screaming obscenities at you.

And you felt pain.

And you felt incomprehensible pain.

Someone was cradling your body, and you cracked your eyes open, slightly, looking blearily up at the terrified face of Gaster, now framed by a heartrendingly blue sky. He’d kept holding onto you, even as you’d struck the pavement, and from how he was cupping your head, he seemed to have kept your skull from striking the concrete. That wasn’t where it hurt.

It hurt in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat. Like -- you’d skidded across the unsmoothed street, pebbles stripping at your skin, but it was your insides burning and bubbling. You’d been used as a line back to reality, you figured dimly, and it’d cost you. You were being spoken to, but the sound was dimmed.

And you could still smell it, that blood, curling around you. Something darker than the pitchest black night. And you could taste it to your mouth, and you turned your face to the side, coughing violently again. Flecks of crimson dotted the sidewalk, more coming as you hack. The taste was sweet, and you desperately mumbled through it, “I deny it - in the light of the sacred.”

Many-Names dropped to their knees by you, patting at your face. “What happened?” they hissed at Gaster, wiping at the blood surrounding your mouth as they did so.

“I -- there was, something… something dark, then they dragged me down, and --- “

“I deny the blood,” you pleaded, closing your eyes once more. “And with it, violence.”

“W-what?”

“Crap,” Many-Names smacked your cheek lightly. “Stay awake, you -- fucking dolt. Piss -- look, you. Stay with them. I’m going to get a cab; they need treatment.”

“Wh- are, are they going to be alright? Please, tell me they’re going to be alright!”

“They’ll be fine,” Many-Names replied, and if you were fully conscious, you probably would have called them out on the lie.

As it stood, all you said was, “..To stave off the world’s execution...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the positive feedback last chapter made me so happy! I treasure any comment. I hope I continue to entertain! Also, don't worry, I mean for you to have lots of questions at this point. I hope it's not too frustrating!
> 
> PS my tumblr is Glitterbark, if anyone wants to hit me up to, y'know, chat! I love chatting.


	3. Can I Put You on Hold?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How long can you avoid it, you wonder, in a world where some things just refuse to die?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT took awhile, I'm sorry. To be honest, I had most of this written for a long while, I just had to fret over it and polish it up. Buckle up for a lot of talking. Next chapter hopefully coming soon now that I'm on break!

You dreamed of when the world was new, of when the water ran pure and the forests ran deep. The shadows of monsters and men blurred in those holy days, and a sun warmer than anything you'd ever known birthed fields of yellow flowers stretching on to infinity. It was a peace more complete than anything else in the world, and it comforted you like nothing else.

You woke up to darkness and a feeling of fervent loss. Panic gripped you, along with the violent urge to thrash and fight until you’d found the light again, but sense reached you soon enough, and you restrained yourself. You weren’t in total darkness, anyway; light seeped into the room from a doorway, beyond which you could see peach colored tile flooring and the chrome edge of a fridge. It was fine. Everything was fine.

A gentle breath escaped you. You’d been sleeping on a couch, and someone had given you pillows and a blanket. You assumed, given the pattern of crystals settled onto your bare chest, that it was Many-Name’s doing.

It was nice bedding, the linen comfortable despite the heat. A fan whirred in the background, the gentle hum lulling you into a more complete feeling of security. From the light pouring from the kitchen, you could examine the circular pattern adorning you, composed of citrine, amber, yellow jasper, topaz - and, ooh, bloodstone, you weren’t going to touch that. You could faintly smell walnuts and cough syrup, and from the slight sticky feeling on your skin, you assumed Many-Names had applied a paste of nuts and horehound.

You settled the blanket back down on your chest once more and just… breathed. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you could make out the details of the room more clearly. Pictures lined the plain, cream-colored walls of the fairly nice apartment. While you couldn’t see them too clearly, due to the darkness and the fierce reflections on the glass, you could tell that most of them were photos. The burgundy curtains lay thickly over the windows, so you couldn’t get a sense of how high up you were, but everything was quiet aside from the gentle ticking of a clock and the buzz of the fan. In a nearby chair, you could make out a silhouette swaddled in dark cloth. Gaster. You breathed out in relief, for he was safe.

From the other room, you could hear the sound of pouring water and faint shuffling. A few seconds later, Many-Name’s figure appeared in the entryway, shoulders framed by the light. They approached quietly, kneeling by your makeshift bed and setting a pair of mismatched pastel mugs onto the nearby glass table. Everything was so immaculately clean that it scared you a little.

“Hey,” they murmured after a second or two of kneeling there. Their voice was gentle, likely in respect for the sleeping monster mere feet away.

“Hey,” you returned, face tilted towards them. They reached out, pulling the blanket back and revealing the arrangement crafted from gems and paste. After examining it for a moment, they started to pick off the stones and, one by one, set them in a nearby glass bowl.

“How do you feel?”

You thought for a long moment. “Like it was dark and rainy and a car hit me, and as I was dying on the pavement a passing scientist took pity on me and brought me to his lab. There, to save my life, he transformed me into a half-cyborg, half-human crime fighting robot using the power of lightning and a sick guitar riff. I punched some dudes - it was totally badass - and then I had to throw myself into a nuclear reactor to save the day.”

“So… the plot of a B-movie?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m so glad you get me, Rebecca.”

“Mm,” they grunted noncommittally and rubbed at their mouth. “No unquenchable thirst for blood?”

“My movie is sci-fi, not horror, thank you very much. I dreamed.”

“Good.” They carefully plucked up the bloodstone from the center of your chest, then took out a small velvet bag from their pocket. After dropping it in, they tightened the cord firmly and set it aside. “Very good. Leave the ointment on until you take a bath. You should burn some incense while you do so - I recommend copal. If you don’t have any, I’ll give you some. You also should perform any other purifying rituals you can think of. You’re going to be weak for a good long while after all that, so you should focus on cleansing your soul so nothing… ill-willed finds it’s way in.”

“Mm.” You examined the severity of their expression. “What happened after I dragged Gaster back?”

They picked up the baby-blue mug, offering it to you before speaking. As you wrapped your fingers around it, you felt the warmth seeping in through your skin. Normally, the heat would be unpleasant this time of year, but a chill had overtaken your body, turning your skin cool and clammy. “So that’s his name? Good to know. Well…”

“I called the Primus as soon as I made sure you weren’t going to die without my immediate attention. I also brought Doctor Klein by, who gave me some medicine for you.” A sip, a sigh, and, as typical for them, Many-Names didn’t beat around the bush. “Someone brought forth the Beast at Melbourne Park.”

Your breath stopped in your throat. “Wh--...what?” You choked out.

“I went to investigate with the Primus as soon as you’d been taken care of. We found blood and the remnants of some kind of ritual, which is probably what started the… unknown phenomenon we encountered. Perhaps the Beast was trying to disguise its presence; perhaps it was trying to gain power through consuming something material. Perhaps - well, nevermind, you’re too tired for all of this, I’m sure. Long story short, we found evidence of corruption, and we’re not sure how everything fits together, yet. The Primus is furious.” The last statement was tacked on, like they’re simply voicing an inevitable statement of fact. To be honest, you were sort of glazing over.

The fight-or-flight response made it sort of difficult to think rationally. You tried anyway as you contemplated the depths of your mug. “A, a ritual, huh? That - doesn't sound like an act of passion, or a momentary loss of control..."

“Yeah,” they confirmed. “It was intentional, and, considering the severity of what we encountered, this was something planned.”

“Who? The -- the Moss Side cult is gone, the, the Cerebrum -- “ You stumbled over your words. It was fine. It was fine. It was fine. “Is -- _she’s dead._ They’re all dead.”

A sip. Many-Names eyed you. “Not all, I should remind you.”

Panic filled your throat, and you sat up - which was a mistake, as immediately a dizzy, lightheaded haze overtook you. In fact, your fingers slacked, allowing the mug in your hand to tip dangerously. As you teetered on the edge of consciousness, Many-Names reached up, steadying it with their hand so it didn’t spill and burn you. “Easy now,” they chided, half leaning over you. “Calm down and drink up. It’ll rejuvenate your spirit.”

They helped you bring the cup to your mouth, and you drank slowly, able to do that much at least. It didn’t quite subdue the churning, sick feeling in your gut, but, well, baby-steps. They continued to speak. “I don’t think the Primus is dumb enough to think you had anything to do with this, and I certainly advocated on your behalf. He’s going to want to speak to you, though, which will, in part, be because of that stunt you pulled. I won’t give you the entire spiel, but that was super fucking dangerous, don’t do it again. Okay?”

You nodded a little. Things were finally starting to settle in; you were finally starting to accept things you knew. Something darker than the darkest darkness, something that stank so resolutely of blood - you should know the influence of the Beast better than anyone, right?

What had you done so foolishly, so impulsively?

“G--Gaster,” you whispered, looking over at him hurriedly. He’d been - was he...

“Don’t worry. He’s fine. Whatever you did, you did it well enough that he was spared from anything… devastating. From what I know of monsters, it would be extremely easy to tell if he’d fallen to the Beast. If they even can be consumed by that sort of hate, I’m not sure. It’s been quite a long time since it’s been relevant.”

This calmed you somewhat, especially knowing that he was alright. You leaned back into the couch, closing your eyes. Seeing that you probably weren’t going to freak out again, Many-Names shifted, gathering up the blanket and placing it over you to cover your body before sitting down next to you. “I’m sorry," you murmured, not really sure what else to say. There was just too much to convey, so you started with the most meaningless words first.

“Mm. Keep drinking, by the way.” They gestured towards your cup, and then continued. “Well. While it’s true what you did was stupid, dangerous, and all around a resoundingly terrible idea, what's done is done, and after you tell us what happened, we might be closer to busting this thing.”

“Did Gaster tell you much?” you asked, wondering how much you’d have to explain.

“Uh… he tried, I think, but honestly, it’s super hard to make heads or tails of anything he’s saying, since it’s not, uh, words. I was hoping you might have some insight into why that is, actually.”

“Um. What?” you paused, looking over at Many-Names. “What are you talking about? I mean, yeah, it sounds really strange at first, but, like... “ Another pause. Actually, you weren't really sure how to explain what listening to Gaster was like. “...like, you can translate it, if it makes sense? Wait, I can and you can’t?”

From Many-Name’s complicated, thoughtful expression, you could tell that was exactly the case. “I can get some things, particularly with context. Like, I could tell he was fretting up a storm over you. Pft. Refused to leave your bedside, hah, you must have made an impression.” They tap on the side of their mug with their knuckle. “Well, never mind that, for now. Do you feel up to telling me what happened? Not as a formal inquiry, or anything, but it’d be nice to pacify the Primus for now.

“Uh. Okay. Right.” Your tea was about half-finished, now, and you kept nursing at it. “Yeah, I think… I can talk for a little. Okay. So I went into investigate, right? And I got that phone call.”

“Right,” they said, buckling in for the story.

You explained quietly, keeping your voice low so as not to disturb Gaster. Many-Names listened mostly without comment, although they did give you a little sass about your slide technique - (“What are you, twelve?”) - and your horrific hero complex.

When they did interrupt, though, was your description of the ritual to free Gaster. Namely - the end. “...You said all the other “tubes” had associated sensations, likely pertaining to areas pertinent to Gaster, right? Stretched out pieces that you put back to reconstruct his ability to exist.”

“Yeah,” you replied, immediately seeing where they were going with this. “...I -- you know, at that point, I was so exhausted that I wasn’t paying attention, but I just got a really bad feeling from that last one. Nothing else. So, I pulled it out of Gaster instead. And. Ah. Soon after… it turned to something darker than dark. The sign of a demon.”

“The Beast itself.”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice a hoarse rasp. “And it started to fill the void.”

There's silence between you. You both knew what could have happened. What could still happen, really, and of the judgement weighing on your shoulders. Then - you felt a weight on your head, a light, gentle sensation. Opening your eyes, you looked over in surprise. Many-Names was patting your head. They smiled at you, expression soft, and said, “It'll be okay. Good job.”

You weren't expecting this at all. Your mouth flapped uselessly, and they withdrew their hand to gesture vaguely at Gaster. “What you did may have had consequences - and, from the sounds of it, pretty severe ones. But that isn't your fault - it's the fault of whatever fuck that's playing around with evil. That man over there? He definitely owes you his life... and, I owe you, too." They sighed, linking their arms behind their head and looking away. "...By the end, there, I could feel my memories of the park going, a bit. If it'd fully disappeared - I'm sure those memories would have been erased, too. And, uh." A light cough. "I used to take my kids there, you know?"

There was a rather meaningful pause, because you certainly did know. You could probably guess what all those pictures on the wall were of, now, even though you only sort-of knew why Many-Names lived alone. 

They continued, after letting that sink in. "Stay determined. It's not easy to be brave, kind, and just. You didn’t let the Beast take hold of your heart, and if anyone tries to condemn you because you encountered it, I’ll, fuck, I dunno. I’ll probably yell at them a lot.”

Many-Names was astonishingly good at yelling at things, you had to admit. The thought made you smile, and you shyly whispered, “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Well.” They cough slightly. “Don’t let it get to your head. Uh, anyway, get some more sleep. You done? I’ll take that.”

You glance down at your empty mug and then pass it over to Many-Names, who takes it - along with theirs - and stands. “Night, Two-Bit. We’ll talk more in the morning, when Gaster’s awake. We’re going to have to figure out what to do with him.”

“Okay. And, um. Thank you. Again. For everything.” You hated how shy you sounded, but, well, you were tired. So. There. 

“‘Course. Now go the fuck to sleep.” They leave, returning to the kitchen - likely to wash the dishes before going to bed themselves. With how cleanly the apartment was kept, you imagined Many-Names didn’t like leaving things dirty for long.

After they left, you collapsed onto the couch, throwing the blanket back over you. It was shocking how much just… sitting up and talking had exhausted you. You really were in a bad way. Still, you couldn’t sleep immediately - it was hard to pass out after a conversation like that. To prevent yourself on dwelling about certain things _(what if the Primus blamed you what if you ended up back in front of the tribunal what if the blood craving came back what if what if what if -- )_ you redirected your thoughts to Gaster.

As you listened to the ticking clock, something occurred to you, and you decided to go out on a limb. “Enjoyed eavesdropping?” you asked, your voice quiet as the sand in an hourglass.

It’s enough, though, and you heard Gaster flinch so violently that he almost fell out of the chair. “I -- “ you heard his melodic, dinging voice, much different now that it wasn’t drenched in static. “I -- I wasn’t -- I’m sorry, I heard voices, I wasn’t trying to listen, but -- I was afraid you’d be upset if you found out I was awake!”

You couldn't restrain a chuckle at his panic, but you weren't cruel enough to let him stew in it. “It’s fine,” you interrupted, your voice struggling to stay afloat in his deluge of anxiety. “Really. It’s not like you did it on purpose. Bartholomew probably thought we were being quiet enough not to wake you.”

“I’m a light sleeper. But you were being quiet! I didn’t hear much,” he admitted, and then he paused as his brain caught up. “Uh. Bartholomew?”

“Oh. Pft.” You laugh, a soft, rough chuckle. “The person we’re staying with. How’d they introduce themselves to you?”

“Um. Ada.”

“Yeah, they do that. Don’t mind it. Just call them what they ask you to. It's their way of getting around not being able to have a name.”

“Not… what?” He leaned forward, and you shifted a bit to prop your head up higher on the pillow to see him better. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a mage thing. Names are important - beings capable of language, like humans, name things to classify them, analyze them, and pin them down. So, when we first become apprentices, we discard our given names as a way to… abandon our worldly constraints. But we still need to call each other something, so our teachers usually give us a way to be addressed. It's like a tradition, and a lot of us keep that first title we're given by our teachers... especially since it ties us to the community of wizards rather than the mundane world we were born to. Following me?”

“Uh… I -- no, honestly. How is that not having a name? Wouldn’t your teacher just be renaming you, then?”

“Not… quite. What is a name, to you? You called yourself Doctor W.D. Gaster -- right? Which part of that is your name?”

“Ah… well, W. D. Gaster. Er. Wingdings, by the way. Wingdings Gaster.” Ahhh, so that was what it stood for. It was kinda cute how he just tacked it on there.

Couldn't get distracted, though, you had dumb junk to explain. “Right. Doctor isn’t a part of your name; it’s your title. So -- that’s mostly what our teachers give us, titles. It just usually happens to be a title unique to us - although there are certain people… like the Primus, for example, who is referred to by his position in our community.”

“So, ah. What about Ada, exactly? I still don’t quite understand.”

“Well. Okay. I’ve basically given you the super simplified version, and there are tons of exceptions. Ada thought all of this stuff was really goofy, and wanted to be able to address themselves with “normal” names. So, basically, their title is more of a concept than an actual set of words. That concept is ‘Many-Names’. So, they can use whatever name they want in regards to themselves, as long as they have a lot of them.” You pause a little, folding your hands over the blanket covering your chest. “And. well. I say titles, but we also kind of think of them as names, but there’s an important distinction - they didn’t start out as names. They’re titles that became names. Get it?”

“Uh. No,” Gaster said, his tone implying that this was probably one of the stupidest things he’d ever heard. “This is all very convoluted.”

“Well. That’s kind of the point. Esotericism is important in human magic. People glorify the strange and give it power over them by their belief. Like… fog. You know what fog is?”

“I do. We had some areas in the waterfall that fogged due to the heating and cooling of  -- ah, well. Yes, I know what it is.”

“You’d probably say there’s nothing magic about fog, right? That it’s just water vapor, or something like that.”

“That’s because fog _is_ just condensed water vapor,” he said somewhat petulantly, like he knew he was going to be aghast at your mental acrobatics.

You couldn't restrain a smile. “In your view of the world. But… have you heard any stories about mysterious things that lurk in the fog? Shadowy shapes, obscured figures?”

“Ah… Well. Yes. It’s the same with darkness, isn’t it? The mind tries to assign definite forms to vague shapes… and often - due to a natural fear of the unknown - gives such shapes very menacing or strange characteristics.”

“Yes. But you can’t deny fog has power over people, right? Even if they “know better”... you can still get spooked by it, right? Maybe even find yourself secretly believing in the power of strange, hidden creatures?”

“I…" He paused to think, and then pulled the blanket covering his form off of himself. You could see the shadow of his body. Odd, sometimes he looked more solid and stable, and sometimes it almost seemed like his body was melting a little. "I can imagine something like that occurring, yes. In a less rational person.” A scowl. Man, you never thought you were going to call a somewhat goopy, shadowy skeleton  _cute,_ but here you were. How precious.

“Rationality or not, it has a noticeable effect on people’s behavior, right? Things that don’t exist can affect people.” 

“...Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted, then waited to see where you were going with this.

“So… couldn’t you say, for some values, that the non existent can exist just because someone believes in it?” 

“That. No.” He gesticulated. “That’s just -- an unfounded belief. That’s like saying flowers grow because an earth spirit willed it, or that it rains because of some sky-being’s tears.”

You laughed a bit, then continued with your counterargument. “But it has an effect on the world. By believing in something, people can make nonexistent forces have effects on their behavior. It becomes real to that person.”

“That’s -- very well, fine, fog-spirits that lurk in the mist and eat people can become something akin to real in irrational people. That doesn’t mean they have any presence in the rational world. No one is going to get hurt by one.”

“That doesn’t matter. This hypothetical effect would still, to some people, be real. Now. The stronger someone believes in something, the more it has an effect on them. The more solid the belief, the more it becomes _real,_ an actual _force_  - and that power, in our soul, makes up our magic. By having enough will, our souls make things real, especially if a large number of people believe in it. Like a legend.”

 He paused. "DT," he said simply, peering at you, and your eyebrows went up.

"E-Excuse me?" Okay, now you were thrown for a loop.

"I understand, now. You're talking about DT. Determination. The extractable force from the human soul that gives it its obscene power. It's what allows human souls to persist after death - and what allowed them to create something as strong as the Barrier. Whether you realize it or not, your magic functions on reasonable principles -- like how when monsters conjure fire, it still functions according to thermodynamics. It's just powered by the soul. How fascinating, what you've managed to do with DT. Everything makes sense now!"

You paused, something itching at the back of your neck. Instead of focusing on it, you lightly chided him. “Ah-ah, you're missing the important bit. I explained it to you before. What if something is impossible? What if it was impossible to save you? What if it would have taken you years of calculations using your methods, and I did it with a philtre, a lighter, and a lot of willpower?"

“...Perhaps I would never have figured out a solution on my own, and I'm not denying that your solution wasn't effective - it just… the DT in your soul must have granted you control over… something, allowed you to influence something else that secured my freedom. It wasn't impossible, obviously, you did it. I just don't have the tools to explain how.”

"You say its possible because I did it. I'm saying it could have very well  _been_ impossible, but I did it  _anyway._ Do you see the distinction? My magic is the ability to create a miracle. It's the ability to do something  _impossible_  simply by believing in it enough. The laws of science dictate that some things must be impossible. The laws of magic dictate that  _everything_ is possible in the right circumstances. It's like - Schrodinger's cat. The cat, in the box, is both alive and dead, right? Because you haven't opened the box yet to find out. In this case, though, instead of 'alive or dead' its 'impossible or possible'. Wouldn't you rather, though, be _absolutely certain_ that when you open the box, that the cat is alive? Why leave yourself open to failure? That's why you should believe in me, because there's no chance of failure. Isn't it nice that, in my world, if you believe enough you'll never be disappointed?"  
  
“I don’t -- “ Gaster sighed heavily. "That's not... It might be nice, but that's just not how things work. You're simply deluding yourself unnecessarily. If I tried to, I'm  _absolutely certain_ I could show you the principles in what you did beyond 'I believed very, very hard'. What you influenced, what variables you changed and how."

"Hmn. Well, I don't necessarily doubt that. Our two theories, in most cases, are just different ways to explain the same thing happening. Most of the time, you get the same result, and everyone can be happy. But -- Gaster, you need to heed this warning, okay?  _The cosmos does not like paradoxes._ If you, in the end, managed to prove what I did impossible?" You raised your hand, and then snapped your fingers. "You'll make everything I did null and void. You have the power to tear apart the foundations of my existence. Have you ever heard the old, old stories, where a man makes a deal with a witch, where he gets everything he ever dreamed -- like love, riches, and eternal youth? You know the old tales?"

He leaned forward, hands linked. "Yes," he replied carefully.

"In that white abyss, you did that with me. You made a deal with me. Your belief, in exchange for your salvation. All you needed to do was not question it. I warned you about it, right? Then?"

"Yes," he confirmed again, staring straight at your face seriously.

"You made a deal with a wizard, Gaster, and if you break the terms, it'll be just like those old stories, where everything falls into ruin. So, be careful, okay? Even if you think it's foolish -- can you bear the consequences of you being wrong?"

He thought. He stared at his hands. Then. "Wait. How did this connect to names, again?"

You smacked your forehead, giggling. "Oh, jeez, I totally got caught up in other stuff. Uh, okay, sorry. Let's back up and tie it all together. So, remember when I said that magic got more powerful when lots of people believed in the same thing, right?"

"Right."

"Basically, esotericism is the root of human magic. Like fog, it makes something strange and mysterious out of something normal. It gives power to the imagination, and it makes the unreal more real, simply by obscuring it. It makes people want to believe in the otherworldly. Again, you following me?"

"Right, we established that." You swore that if he scooted any farther further on his chair, he'd fall off.

 "So, human magic works off of belief - or DT, as you called it. Question: What makes people believe in foggy figures? Answer: How mysterious they look! So, I need belief to work miracles. What do I need? Mystery! I need to be someone "abnormal" for the general populace to believe I have power. The culture of wizardry is built on countless generations of tradition, which must be upheld because people  _believe_ in them and their power. They believe in the ancient, they believe in the esoteric, and they believe in the strange. So... When we refer ourselves in ways most people wouldn't - like Two-Bit, Many-Names, the Witch of the Western Woods... we command power sheerly because we have abnormal 'names'. And, uh, in converse..." You closed your eyes, sinking into your pillow a bit. "Uh, if someone ever found out our true name - the name we were born with - they can hurt us quite a lot, because... they undo some of that power and tradition. We're less able to function as a figure to be believed in."

The exhaustion of talking so much was really starting to catch up to you, so you didn't mind that Gaster was silent for a good long while after your explanation. "Thank you," he said after a time, his voice gentle. The sincerity in it surprised you so much that you had to open your eyes and look over at him again. "Thank you, for -- I just realized, I've been so rude. Here I am, questioning you and everything you believe in, when... you're my savior. I might not agree with everything you've said, and I certainly don't understand, but it was -- incredibly generous of you to spend so much time trying to enlighten me. Thank you. For, ah, for everything. You're very remarkable, and I'm ashamed that wasn't the first thing I said to you - along with giving you my heartfelt thanks."

You stared at him. Uh. Boy, you sure were glad it was dark, because you just might be blushing. "Uh, well, uh. You're welcome? Haha. Anytime!"

"How are you feeling? I saw the doctor looking over you, and Ada doing that -- odd ritual to -- Erm. Uh. Uhm." For a moment, you were baffled as his face flushed grey, then he rushed, "Not -- I didn't watch them undress you! I looked away! I promise! I made sure I didn't see anything, I swear to you, I wasn't, watching, or being improper, I definitely didn't look  _I promise --_ "

You laughed, and it hurt to do so, but oh, you couldn't help it, screw those sore muscles. You laughed, and laughed, and he trailed off into meek silence. "You know, if you hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have suspected you, but now I sorta do."

"I...! I didn't," he insisted, and you waved it off.

"I believe you. You don't seem like that kind of guy." Your smile was wicked, then, as you watched him fidget. God, though, your voice sounded weak, even to you. You were probably drifting off, soon. In fact, he'd gone quiet, again, so you felt yourself slipping away when he asked...

"...Ah... Two-Bit?"

"Mmn?" You roused yourself a little.

"What's... the Beast?"

You froze. Shit. You had  _not_ wanted him to hear that. "Ah."

"It's -- I'm, simply... Are you, are you alright? Are you  _going_ to be alright? I... you seemed very... I really - ! Really did not mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhearing how... Scared. You sounded scared."

"Well," you tried to sound as casual as possible." The Beast is, uh, scary. I gotta. I gotta tell you, Gaster -- Wingdings? Which would you rather?"

"Erm! Gaster is, ah, its fine."

"Gaster, then, ah. I'm ... real tired. D'ya mind if we talk about this tomorrow?"  _Please say yes,_ you prayed to yourself.  _And please actually forget to ask me about it again!_

"Oh, yes, of course! I'm sorry, it's -- it's very late. You need sleep! I'm so sorry, I've been keeping you up, and you need rest." He pulled the blanket over himself again, seeming very chastised. "Rest! Sleep! Goodnight. Please sleep well."

You chuckled again, snuggling back into the couch. "Goodnight, Gaster. Sleep well."

A few minutes passed, and you listened to the quiet tick of the clock. Something occurred to you with a little start, though, and you wondered how you hadn't realized it immediately. "Gaster?"

"Mmn?" He made a little noise from his blanket pile, and you could see his eyes flicker in his sockets as he roused himself.

"How, exactly, do you know that you can extract DT from humans?"

"Uh," he said, like his brain had just gone completely dead. 

That was all you needed to know, basically. "Tomorrow."

"Y-yeah," he stumbled, the lights in his eyes going out once more. "Tomorrow."


	4. Try Dialing a Different Extension, Instead.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, if you try very hard, you can pretend that everything is going to be alright.

When you woke, the world was so dim that you thought it was still early in the morning. As soon as you started stirring, however, Many-Names cheerfully informed you that it was two in the afternoon, and the hushed atmosphere filling the room was caused by a giant storm brewing in the heavy summer sky. You felt like a literal poop pile, but the smell of sizzling bacon dragged you out of your grave. Of course, it took you a moment to realize you were shirtless still, and by that point, Gaster - who had leaned through the doorway to inquire about your wellbeing - had already gotten an eyeful as you'd stood.

You didn't really care, but Gaster certainly did, given the shadowy grey painted across his face as soon as he saw. He retreated into the kitchen with a frightful squeak, and you were left standing by the couch, blinking absently.

"Oh my god," Many-Names was next, leaning out and waving a pair of tongs dangerously in your direction. "Put on a fucking shirt before you give the poor boy a heart attack."

"I don't have one! You took mine! Where is it, you dastardly thief?" You shouted, throwing your hands up in the air in an exasperated manner.

"I don't know! Somewhere around there! I'm cooking. Find it yourself, you bum."

You began storming around the apartment. It wasn't like you cared, honestly, but you didn't actually want to kill Gaster. As you looked, you could see the pictures on the walls better, now, various images of a smiling Many-Names and the two children you'd heard of only in rumors. You sort-of recognized the devastatingly pretty woman next to them, although you'd only seen her once - and briefly, at that - so you couldn't say you knew her. She wore the same manner of soft, gentle expression in all the photographs you could see, though, giving her an intensely likable air. You'd love to meet her properly.

A shame that you never would.

(God, that wasn't any way to think about someone's dead wife. How could they stand it, keeping all this around?)

You turned away from the frozen memories, and finally spotted the wayward garment, neatly folded and sitting on a shelf beside a motley assortment of Tolkien novels. Pfft. You stepped over, picking it up, shaking it out, and then pulling it over your head. "I'm decent!" You called, trudging over to the kitchen and the alluring pop of unfairly fatty meat. Normally, you'd skip, but, well.

Everything still _hurt._ Wahh.

The kitchen was just as neat as the rest of the apartment, although it was pretty small, being a narrow tunnel surrounded on either side by counters and cookware. Gaster and Many-Names stood side by side in front of the stove, the former tentatively flipping over pancakes with a spatula like he wasn't quite sure if he was doing it right. They weren't burned, so you figured everything was fine. Both looked at you as you padded through the doorway, Gaster with relief on his face, and Many-Names with an expression that suggested imminent bullying.

"Well well, look who finally joins the waking world. I thought I'd have to call the doctor again and tell him you were in a coma."

You didn't rise to the provocation, too happy were you to see breakfast. Or... lunch? Brunch? What the hell was it, when it was two in the afternoon? You voiced your thoughts, wedging yourself between them and draping your arms around them both.

"Lunch, probably," Many-Names replied, shifting some bacon onto the stacked layers of paper-towels they'd arranged on the counter beside them. Oh, did that mean some was already ready? You leaned over to investigate, and they smacked your arms with the metal tongs. "Bad. Wait for everybody. Also don't just lean over the pan like that, what the fuck, grease is hot."

"Fiiiine, ugh. Got any bananas, though? Not that I'm being picky, mind, but it's -- "

" -- Kind of a thing, yes, I know." They sighed. "Yes, Lady Dogwitch brought some by on my request when she came to see me."

"Ahh! Her Exquisite Majesty, Queen of the Hounds was here, and I missed her? My heart, it's breaking! Shattering, quaking! I cannot go on, with the fuss it's making." You wailed. You loved Lady Dogwitch. She was perfection incarnate.

"You slept right through it. They're on the table, though, I'm surprised you didn't see them."

"Too busy looking for my shirt, remember?" You looked over at Gaster, who you noticed hadn't said anything. Too busy focusing on cooking? You shifted your gaze down to the pan, noticing that smoke was rising around one of the fluffy white batter circles. "Oh, buddy, that means it's burning," you chided lightly, taking your arm away from Many-Name's shoulder once more. You placed it on top of Gaster's hand - the one holding the spatula, to guide it to its destination - and, in response, the monster let out a series of high-pitched chirps you couldn't make out.

"Eh?" You looked at his face. It was dark, dark grey.

You weren't quite sure what was up until Many-Names helpfully informed you, "Not everybody is okay with blithe invasions of their personal space, Two-Bit."

"Oh!" You withdrew, taking your hand off his and pulling your arm from around his back. "Right, sorry! Man, G, you could have just hit me with a cooking utensil. It's what Georgia would do!"

"Mmmn," Many-Names made a noncommittal noise. "Go eat your damn banana. But only one; proper breakfast is almost ready."

"Are you saying bananas aren't proper breakfast?" You said as you sauntered out of the room.

"They aren’t," was their imperial reply, and you felt a wave of intense moral outrage. Those were fighting words.

"They are the perfect fruit! They have their own wrapping, they’re easy to eat, they’re perfectly proportioned, they’re healthy and,” you punctuated your sentence with a snap of your fingers. “They’re delicious!

“But they’re not a _proper breakfast._ A proper breakfast includes - at the _very least -_  bacon and eggs, preferably with some variety of juice. And _toast._ ” Many-Names scoffed a bit, clearly judging your standards of eating and finding them lacking. 

“Well, Ada,” you called over your shoulder. “That explains why _you’re_ a little bit pudgy and _I’ve_ got the musculature of a Greek god.”

“I -- I am not pudgy! I’m _big boned!”_ They shouted back, and you snickered. If they weren’t cooking, you were certain they’d chase you.   
  
“Pudgebucket!” You chirped as you skipped away. You didn’t notice that Gaster was still staring very, very intently at the stove.

He’d definitely noticed your upsettingly nice abs.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Breakfast was… nice. You were too lazy to go all out on meals like Many-Names had, so it'd been… years and years since you'd eaten home cooked bacon. Some of the pancakes were a little overdone, but that didn't matter, and you could tell Gaster was brimming with pride when you wolfed them down. There'd been maple syrup - the real stuff, not Mrs. Butterworth's like your parents always used - and juice, and eggs, and _strawberries,_ crimmeny, Many-Names apparently made their own jam. You had no idea they were such a culinarian.

Gaster was similarly impressed. He kept making delighted little comments about how everything tasted, which you made a little fun of him for when you translated. It took you a little while to realize that, you know, you didn't know how long he'd been stuck in that place, how long it might have been since he'd actually tasted anything. You didn't make fun of him after that.

The mood was good, the company warm, and so it was with some trepidation that you finally mentioned the elephant in the room.

“So, ah.” You drew a line through the condensation on your glass. “...What are we going to do with Gaster?”

The monster in question looked at you, folding his hands on the table. You knew he’d been waiting for the subject to be brought up.

“Well - some of that is up to the man himself, I suppose, although I’m certain the Primus will want to speak with you, so I’d prefer you not disappear.” They nodded to Gaster. “You want to find your family, though, right?”

“Yes,” Gaster replied, and upon realizing that Many-Names couldn’t understand him, nodded.

“Well. You might be able to get somewhere by asking around the local monster communities for them - however… we don’t really know what’s wrong with your voice, yet. So far, you’re the only one that can understand him, Two-Bit, but perhaps things will be different with monsters.”

“Ah… the Good Lady Dogwitch couldn’t, either? That’s rough, I’m sorry buddy.” You gave Gaster a sympathetic look before continuing. “Well, maybe it’s just humans? We don’t even really know why I can understand him in the first place.”

“Mmn.” Many-Names rested their chin on their hand. “Do you have any ideas what you want to do?”

Gaster opened his mouth and… failed to speak for a short time, mulling over his reply. “I’m not sure. I know little about the world above, and littler still of how to survive. I’m not -- even sure what will happen when I find my brothers. Will the welcome me? Will they forgive me? Will they even… remember me?”

You translated and looked to Many-Names. It felt natural to do so - you didn’t feel like an adult, not really, and them? A wife, children… they seemed like someone who understood things like mortgages and taxes and how to function in the real world. You could pretend, sure, but that was just faking it. An important skill, mind; a very convincing fake was just as good as - sometimes better than - the real thing. But…

...It was kind of comforting, in a way, to be in the presence of a genuine article.

“You bring up a few good points. There’s a lot that we don’t know about you, and you don’t really have a place to stay. And - there’s something I’m a bit worried about.” Many-Name’s leans back into their chair. “What if people _don’t_ remember you? That could be dire enough to affect your entire existence.”

“What do you mean?” Gaster asked, then turned to you. It was hard to meet his gaze. You worked your jaw a little, hating that everything couldn’t just be roses, that rescuing him didn’t solve all his problems. “What do they mean, Two-Bit?”

“He’s asking what you mean,” you replied, and you were so thankful that they took the lead on this.

“Well. I’ll put it frankly. We don’t know how tenuous your existence is, Gaster, and we don’t know how much or how little it’d take to erase it again. Everything might be fine. Two-Bit might have managed to restore your innate connections to the world - and you won’t have to worry about whether you exist or don’t exist, because the world takes care of that for you. If the Grand Order acknowledges you, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks - you _exist._ But…” they paused, looking at the ceiling. “It’s very possible that Two-Bit didn’t actually put you back into the Grand Order. It’s very possible that you technically exist and don’t exist, at the same time, but they managed to do… something to allow you to be in the real world. It’s very possible that your family and your friends still don’t know you ever existed in the first place. And.”

They leaned forward, staring at him seriously. “Even worse, them encountering you might create a paradox, because you’ll create a situation where they should know you… but they can’t possibly recognize you, because you don’t exist. You might draw the notice of the Grand Order.”

“The Grand Order _hates_ paradoxes,” you supplied.

“What...  Alright. What’s the Grand Order?” He was trying to take you both at face value right now, which made you very, very happy. You didn’t have the energy for another long winded explanation about thaumaturgical principles.

Instead of translating, you just explained. “The Universe, basically. The very concept of existence, and with it, what exists and where. You could consider it… one of the Truths of Reality. To do magic, we subvert that Truth and create our own Truth which… well. Only the best of the best can make reality itself wholeheartedly believe something. And I’m not the best of the best.”

You offered him a little, sad smile. “It’s, um. Kind of unlikely that I managed to make the Grand Order accept you.”

“What happens if I … become noticed by the Grand Order?”

You translated. Many-Names took a drink of grapefruit juice, first. “Well. It’s hard to say. You could be sent back to that void you inhabited before. You could simply be entirely erased from existence. Or - you could, in certain circumstances, spawn a Nightmare, but you don’t have to worry about that, really. That’s our sort of problem, not yours.”

Gaster just looked at you, at this point, and you understood. You really, _really_ didn’t want to explain this, though, it made your gut coil in anxiety. “Nightmares, are, uh. The price we pay for subverting the Grand Order.”

You stopped, and Many-Names continued. “To do magic, we must Dream, both in the sense that we have grand hopes and desires… and in the sense that we give birth to new realities through our imagination. A Nightmare is a twisted Dream, ruined by blood or the Beast. Those certain circumstances Two-Bit mentioned would have to involve you clinging to the Dream of your own existence so desperately that you invite the Beast in to maintain it.”

Gaster stared. And stared. And then -- “I have no idea how to react to this in a way that isn’t incredibly rude.”  
  
You let out a peal of laughter. “Gaster doesn’t believe us!” you summarized.

He buzzed in annoyance. “I -- didn’t say that! It’s just… a bit much to take in.” Slumping a bit, he looked to the table, and you calmed yourself out of pity. “What do you two recommend I do? That all sounds very… bad.”

“He’s asking what we think he should do. Uh. Did you have an idea?” You gestured across the table.

“Well. Honestly. I can’t imagine things going well for him if we just turn him out on his own, and... Two-Bit. You seem to be in the best position to help him. You know his situation, and you can understand him. Are you willing to let him stay with you for awhile, help him figure things out?”

A blink. “Me? Are you -- wouldn’t the Primus be more qualified to handle something like this? I mean -- this sort of… this is sort of a pretty big deal, right?”

Many-Names stared at you. “The Primus is a speciesist fuck.”

You flinched. “Well, uh. I mean.” Okay, yeah, there was no way for you to deny that. “I -- well, I mean, would I even be allowed? I don’t really have the authority to…” You trailed off, looking to Gaster and hoping he didn’t think you didn’t want to help him. You _did,_ it was just --

\-- Why should anyone trust you?

“Look. I think most involved parties here are way more concerned with whoever committed the unholy ritual that started all this in the first place. I kinda doubt anyone will care if you quietly… take care of a problem.” They spare a glance to Gaster. “Not that I’m implying you’re a problem. No offense.”

“None, ah, none taken.” He tapped his fingers together, looking back and forth between you like this was a ping pong match.

“He’s not offended, although man, that was a pretty bad way to put it. I get what you mean though, I suppose, um… If that’s alright with you?” Probably shouldn’t just decide things for him, hah. “If you’d like, you could stay with me for awhile. I can see if we can help you find your family, and maybe… get you your life back. Properly. I can’t make any promises, and, I don’t have the best place in the world, but… you’re welcome there?”

“I would… hate to be a bother,” he replied, and you shook your head vehemently in response.

“No way, jeez, you wouldn’t be a bother. You think I’m the sort to do things halfway? Peaches, no. If you want the help, I’ll get you sorted. ‘Course, we can always get you sorted with someone else, if you’d rather. Primus is the one with the most authority - he could probably talk to King Asgore, even - but, well, Many-Names said it, he don’t like monsters too much.” Your smile turned thin. “That’s kind of the way of it with a lot of people. Haven’t gotten used to you guys, yet.”

He thought for a time, and you both allowed him the space to do so. Then. “Do you… please, tell me honestly. Do you think that I’ll ever be able to see my family again without something terrible happening?”

You translated, and then looked to Many-Names, sort of uncertain about what to say to him. Careful replies weren’t exactly your forte.

“People call us many things,” Many-Names began, gesturing idly to the air. “Wizards, magicians, spellcasters, mages… but we have a word for ourselves - an old word, a sacred word. Thaumaturge. It’s a Greek term that, broken down, means… miracle-worker. I cannot promise you that we can reunite you with your family, Gaster, because for a miracle to happen, there must be risk. However, if there’s anyone who can… it’s us. And we can only work miracles with belief. So, chin up, don’t lose heart, yadda yadda.”

“...Is it really alright for me to stay with you? I promise, I’ll try to be helpful, to repay you for the kindness you’ve done to me.”

“Of course! Seriously, don’t sweat it.” You filled your voice with manufactured cheer. Many-Name’s spiel seemed to set Gaster on ease a bit, for which you were thankful. It got hard to hope yourself, sometimes. “It’ll be some couch living, but I’ll spend my off-time helping you -- “

You paused.

“Oh _poppies_ what time is it.”

Many-Names squinted before looking over at their clock. “Three twenty-two.”  
  
“Ahh!” You whined as you stood. “I’ve been closed all day! I was expecting someone! She was eight and wanted medicine for her mom! _I’m the worst!”_

Man, maybe you should call them Eyebrows instead, because Many-Names sure liked raising them. “Hardly your fault, although we likely should return you to your shop. Did you have it prepared already? It would be easy to make a delivery.”

“No! It’s the kind of thing that had to be made fresh. Ah… I’m sorry to hurry things up, but I have to get to work before sunset. When’s sunset today? Oh _no._ ”

Gaster stood as well, the lower half of his body flickering. “Is it far to go?”

“I don’t -- actually know. How do I get home?”

“I’ll take you,” Many-Names said with a laugh. “Let’s gather your things, and I’ll bring you to the bus stop.”

It was as you were scrambling for your bag that Many-Names asked, "So, Gaster. Did monsters have something called Sign Language in the Underground?"  



	5. This One's Just an Endless Loop of Singin' in the Rain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was the point of running when you ended up getting wet anyway? Just for the fun of it, probably, something about the rain brings out the innocence in us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really gotta plug this remix of Waterfall: https://soundcloud.com/retro_specter/neon-depths-undertale-waterfall-remix-by-retrospecter
> 
> i had it on loop while writing this chapter

Something snapped in the air, drawing your attention up to the heavy grey sky. “Oh boy,” you murmured and, without further explanation, grabbed Gaster’s hand to drag him into a run.

“W--What is it? What’s going on?” He stumbled after you, clearly having been absorbed in his wondrous contemplation of _people_ , and _buildings,_ and _the great big openness of the world above._ You felt a little sad to have interrupted him. He’d seemed so happy, but he’d thank you later.

Or maybe not, but you’d thank you later, and that was what counted, really. Actually, you could see the cherry red awning of your store right now, and you urged Gaster along with an urgent “Book it!” He’d seemed to have gotten the picture - or, at least, had been through enough with you already to obey your commands without too much protest. Skidding to a stop underneath your pretty little overhang, you looked up at him, beaming.

Worry and confusion curved his mouth into a distressed frown. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t have a chance to reply before it started pouring, the sky letting out big, fat globules of water that struck the waterproof overhang. He flinched at the initial burst and looked around wildly for the source of the steady hum beating against the awning. “The storm broke.”

“Storm? It’s raining?” he buzzed, turning and looking out to the street. Steadily, the prim, grey sidewalk turned a much drearier dark from the water. He shoved his face out from underneath the covering, turning it so he could feel the onslaught directly. “It’s -- It’s really raining. From the _sky._ ”

“This the first time you’ve seen rain?” You asked, finally releasing his hand as you fumbled in your bag for your keys.

“Yes,” he rasped, captivated wholly and completely by the fervent, rattling downpour.  “There was no weather in the Underground. In some places, water would drip from the cave ceiling, but… It never changed. It was so stifling and stagnant.”

You watched him watch the sky, and you felt an awful pang of… something. Regret, possibly? For what your forefathers had done? You still bore their curse, so it only makes sense you’d also bear their guilt. The soft light suited him, though, subtle shading wrapped around the bones of his fingers and curved around the edge of his jaw.

After a pause, you realized you’d come awfully close to thinking the man handsome, and so you turned away, undoing the lock with a soft click.  Lightly, you mused, “Maybe you’ll get to see lightning, as well, and hear the thunder. The air feels ripe for that, today. Heavy and impatient.”

“Really?" Reverence filled his voice, and you had a strange impulse to protect that innocent sound. Maybe you'd try to summon the storms if they didn't come on their own. Bid them out to dazzle the world, although, you had other things to take care of first.

"Yeah." You opened the door. Nothing seemed amiss in the soft dark - just dusty smelling air and an amphitheater of dreaming books, exactly how you liked it. Also, the air conditioning was still _super_ broken. Great. Bracing yourself for the heat, you stepped inside, glancing back only briefly to Gaster. “You’re free to watch as long as you like. I’ll leave the door open, so you can come in when you’re ready.”

“Oh! No, no, I’ll join you inside.” He drew away from the street like he’d become intimately aware of his childish fascination, and subsequently, had become embarrassed by it. Unnecessary but endearing, and you couldn’t restrain a soft chuckle.

“Suit yourself,” you replied, walking into the dim room to flick on the lightswitch near the counter. While you were there, you turned on the fan, setting it to full blast and allowing the hum to join the drumming of the rain. It’d get better soon, you reasoned, the storm would cool things off.

Gaster trailed after you, and his drifting movement reminded you of some sort of mysterious cloaked wizard, which was frankly hilarious considering the circumstances. You might tell him so, later, but for now, you just watched him as he got distracted yet again.

Immediately, he gravitated towards your stock, staring up wondrously at the towering shelves of books. He touched them like they were rare treasures belonging to some great king or sultan, not like the roughed up objects you sold for around four dollars a volume. Well. It wasn’t like price necessarily equated to value.

Man. He hadn’t even had books, out there in the void. What did he even do…?

“This is incredible. These are all yours?”

“Yup. Taking care of books is my duty, when I’m not helping out any clients in my territory.” You stretched, working out some of that stiffness from your muscles and bones. Apparently, weird dimension hopping really took it out of you. Who’d have thought?

“I think I’ve heard you mention that before… What do you mean by territory?”

"Hmn? Oh." You dipped under the counter, talking to him as you rooted around. "Well -- okay. So, long ago, it was tradition for wizards to, like... claim a section of land, have that be _theirs_ . Like, a village witch, for example, or a wizard who had a tower and lands they oversaw. They'd be able to do their _thing_ in relative comfort, and people would be able to go to them for help and advice. That tradition persists today, although due to population density in cities, it's much smaller than it used to be for city wizards like us."

"Your thing?" he prompted, finally looking away from the books.

"Yeah. Figuring out how to avoid the Grand Unveiling, more specifically. The apocalypse," you clarified, and you said this like it was totally normal, because, to you, it was.

"...The -- the apocalypse," he stuttered a bit, gesturing vaguely to the air. "The end of the _world?"_

"Yep." Ah, there it was. You took out a single, shining gold coin from a small pouch in the back or your supply box, and put it in your bag before shoving it in the spot you kept for it under the counter. Always paid to be prepared. "It'll come, one day, and the ultimate goal of thaumaturgy is to create a miracle pure enough to avert it. Otherwise, everything is just going to... stop."

 _"You're trying to prevent the apocalypse?"_ He asked in a tone that implied several more question marks than were actually transcribed.

What a weird thing to get hung up over. "Yeah? I mean -- ultimately, what all living creatures want is to keep living. Is it so weird that humanity - in its defiance - wants to keep living beyond our appointed end?"

"You -- what sort of apocalypse are we talking about, here? Locusts, rains of blood, frogs from the sky? Or... the eventual death of the sun? Entropy claiming everything? Some god coming down, passing judgement, and leading everyone to the Underworld?"

He looked kind of silly, so you couldn't help but laugh. "Nothing so dramatic! Or -- well, actually, I should say, we don't really know. Maybe there'll be frogs? That would be kind of fun. No, the Grand Unveiling is the day when the Grand Order completely collapses."

Gaster paused. Counted to three, and -- "My... apologies for my outburst. I was being rude again."

You continued to giggle, unlocking the door to your back room. "It's fine, buddy, I know you don't know a lot about this stuff. Most monsters don't, I imagine, it's been so very long... well." A sigh. "Well, you know that the Grand Order is the surface truth of the world, right? Like -- perceiving time as linear, having things occupy real, consistent space, the… what’s it called? Gravity constant? Anyway... everything you probably think of as "normal" is due to the Grand Order."

"...Right." Gaster said carefully, peering at you. He moved away from the shelf, following you into your workshop.

Plants hung from the ceiling, various flowers and herbs that you'd set out to dry. Peppers, too, that had turned hard and wrinkled from age. A desk occupied the corner, piled high with various arcane equipment - your alembic, your small cauldron, a scale with an assortment of weights... everything you used for purification and brewing. Your shelves overflowed with _stuff_ \- countless vials containing oils and extracts, labeled pouches of stones, and jars of colored powder, to name a few categories. You had bottled frog's legs, some reptile eyes floating in an embalming mixture, and even a drawer lined with small animal bones. Boxes of stacked brocades and silks, arcane texts, fresh flowers growing out of pots and filling the room with a heady scent...

Everything you'd find useful in spellcraft, except air-conditioning. _Pickles._

You continued to explain as you moved further into the room. "But the Grand Order isn't the only truth. For example, we have our own truth - the Truth of Dreaming, and there are others. Consider each truth... a layer of reality, maybe. So you've got the initial layer, the one that everyone knows without having to be told. The Grand Order. Then you've got the layer the magi produce, which allows things that shouldn't be possible to become "real" through enough belief, and -- sorry, this is all confusing, isn't it?"

"A -- little. I'm not sure I understand, really, although I'm trying." He peered into one of your glass cases, gaze flicking across some crystals you had growing in a tube.

“Well, I’ll put it more simply, then. What we do, thaumaturgy, is _real,_ but it's not the kind of real that can survive even if nobody believes in it. And, to do it, we work off of the main reality, the Grand Order. When the apocalypse comes - and the Grand Order is undone - all of the truths of the world will fall apart, and everything will just _end_. Unless!” You paused in your work to waggle a finger. “Unless we learn how to fix the Grand Order, or, alternatively, replace it convincingly enough that the universe can keep going. Does… that make sense?”

“So you’re saying…” he said after a moment of thought, and he steepled his hands as he fully faced you. “The Grand Order is like the code of a program. Our magic, monster magic, is like… pressing buttons to make the program do what we want. We do things defined by the core program, in a sensible way. Your magic - human magic - is… adding _new_ buttons and _new_ code to do otherwise impossible tasks... but, it's still a modification, like a -- a patch, maybe, which can be undone if it doesn't interface properly with the original code. And - what you call the apocalypse - is what happens when the program stops running. No matter how much alternate code you add, it still needs the main program to run. So… wizards are… trying to get so good at coding that they can either restart or recreate the main program when it stops?”

You looked over at him for a moment, pausing in the middle of opening a drawer. “...Sure, why not. That sounds accurate enough, although like, you’re asking probably the worst person in the world about computer stuff. To be honest, this is all the Primus' business. I’m not very high up in the whole hierarchy of things. "

"I see..." He watched you for a time as you went about the room, picking up the various reagents you'd need to make medicine for Miss Lang. You brought them over to your desk, setting them down and beginning to work - chopping and grinding and mixing and brewing. You'd use the storm itself instead of the sun, you thought to yourself, listening to the soothing hum of rain. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Mmmn, I've got it covered," you replied, tipping a portion of crushed echinacea root into your cauldron. “This isn’t so hard. I’ve had a lot of practice. Um, do you want a chair? You can grab mine from behind the counter.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, leaning back lightly on one of your cabinets. “So… you do things like this for people in your territory… and you sell books? How’d that come about?”

“Hah, well. We all die, eventually, magic doesn’t stop that from happening. The last owner was a wizard who became very, very old and died. So, I ended up taking over. Having a wizard running a bookstore is pretty… handy, y’know? Books are powerful, and I come across some pretty valuable stuff sometimes. Arcane texts end up in the strangest places.” Tnk-tnk-tnk. Your knife rhythmically struck the cutting board, a sharp aroma of mint filling the air. "Gives me a place to live and work to do if I'm not needed elsewhere."

"Was that the teacher you mentioned? The old owner?"

You stop. You can feel your heartbeat for a few moments. "Uh, no," you resumed, and forced the moment to pass. "My teacher is, um, she died."

"Oh," he made a soft sound. "I'm sorry for you loss."

So were you, but you didn't say that. Instead, you replied with a smile, "It was a long time ago, don't worry about it. So - you've been asking all these questions, but you haven't really told me much about yourself."

"Oh - well... I suppose that's true. What would you like to know?"

"Hmn! Tell me more about Sans and Papyrus. What's it like to have brothers?"

"Oh, you're an only child?" He asked, tilting his head, and you snorted. You didn't have family at _all._

But you weren't going to say that. Instead, "I asked about you, goofball."

A series of soft chirps emerged from Gaster, and you thought they sounded much like a laugh. "My apologies. Where to begin..."

You put a piece of sunstone in your mouth as he told you about the ferociously intelligent Sans and the infinitely kind Papyrus. He told you about how, on the day Sans was admitted to a prestigious program at the Underground's university, he'd immediately gone to find Gaster at work to tell him _all_ about it, _every_ last detail, and Gaster had been proud, so, so very proud. He told you about how Papyrus' favorite food in the world growing up had been quiche - more specifically, Gaster's quiche - and how he begged for it every night. How sometimes, he'd been too busy to comply with the demand, so Sans tried to make it himself, but no matter how hard he tried, Papyrus complained it was never as good, it wasn't _W.D.'s quiche, I want Dingus to make it!_ (That had been their nickname for him, he’d said, it was Sans’ fault.)

Taking the stone out of your mouth, you plopped it into the cauldron, and Gaster told you about how Papyrus loved action figures, and how sometimes Gaster would sit with him and Papyrus would tell him about each and every one, _and_ their stories, _and_ all their cool powers, _and_ who was the Best and Coolest Friends with who. He told you about how Sans loved stupid jokes, and how he'd try them all out on Papyrus, who reacted with hilariously exaggerated bombast. He couldn't hide the fondness with which he spoke of Sans pranking his academic peers, who were the best and brightest of the Underground.

He told you about the difference between Sans' and Papyrus' laughter, and how, on their respective birthdays, they'd always try to guess what their presents were before they opened them - but Sans would always purposefully guess Papyrus' present to him hilariously wrong, and Papyrus would never, ever be able to guess what Sans got him.

He talked, and talked, and talked, and he ended up speaking for so long that you didn't need to say another word until your potion was almost ready.  You stood, heaving up your cauldron, and Gaster trailed off. "Sorry, did I bore you?"

"What? Oh, absolutely not, I just have to do something real quick. You can keep talking, if you want to follow me, I'm listening." You were. You really were. You were absolutely certain of this now - you _had_ to reunite Gaster with his family, no matter what.

It seemed that he'd become aware of just how much he'd spoken, though, and had become subsequently embarrassed by it, for he didn't resume as he followed you back to the front door. You were a bit disappointed, but you were sure there’d be time for more stories. "Do you need any help with that?"

"This? Goodness, no, light as a feather," you lied through your teeth, because pumpkins-in-a-strawberry-patch, when had your cauldron gotten so _heavy?_ It wasn't like you didn't exercise. You worked out a lot! Push ups, sit ups, weights, all sorts of weird stretches and poses you'd been taught day in and day out! You had a routine! Why was _this_ such a problem? Sure, you still ached from yesterday, but...

But you were going to tough it out, because no way were you going to ask for help with something this small. Although, you didn't have much of a choice in some respects, because as soon as Gaster realized where you were going, he rushed for the door and opened it for you.

"Boy, you really were raised proper, weren't you?" You laughed as you headed outside. He watched you from the doorway, wearing a mystified expression as he stared at you, which wasn't alleviated at all by you stepping out into the rain and lifting the cauldron up to the sky.

Poop. Your arms ached already. But you had to keep going, breathe, and bring the world into your heart. Water soaked your shoulders and drizzled onto your hair; water dripped down your cheek like an embrace. Water would make the world new again; water would purify the body and the spirit.

A rumble of thunder sounded, and a few seconds later, lightning traced across the sky in a branch-like burst of fierce light. You heard Gaster gasp, and felt his presence next to you as he approached, leaning out to view the sky. His wonderment - his childlike innocence about the _newness_ of the surface - helped more than you ever could have anticipated. Something about him there, next to you, captivated so completely about the storm... It made your chest feel warm, and with it, brought forth boundless determination.

Softly, he whispered, "Incredible."

Your arms shook a little, but you held fast, which he seemed to notice, even in his reverent daze. "Can't you set it down?"

"No," you said with absolute certainty. "It's about the gesture just as much as the action."

There was silence, and you thought he'd gone back to looking at the sky - but then, you felt something against your back, something brushing against your arms, and the weight had gone, somewhat. It took you a moment to realize it was Gaster, having stepped behind you, who was helping you lift the cauldron. "Is this alright?" He asked, and you were too stunned to reply for a moment.

"Y--You don't have to do this. I mean, you're not messing anything up, but, uh, you don't, I can manage it, really, it's..." You stuttered a bit and hated yourself for it. You could _do this._ You _were strong._ You --

''Have you already forgotten what you were told?" He chided, but his tone was bereft of hostility. "You're not well, yet. You need to rest. You have been through _quite_ a lot, and expecting yourself to be immediately back in your prime is folly. Er, unless, I'm making you uncomfortable?"

"No, uh, I appreciate the gesture," you said, and it was a half-lie. You _were_ uncomfortable, but not the sort where you wanted him to stop, not really. People didn't really do this kind of thing for you. Heck, Many-Names' consideration of you had been pretty surprising, and you chalked that up to the direness of the circumstances. It was _strange,_ but you didn't exactly want him to _stop._

And you didn't quite -- get that, and you didn't understand where it came from, but, you figured, it couldn't hurt the product of your efforts. In the end, in fact, it might even help. These small hopes, these gentle dreams, this warm moment of you wanting to lean on him, a bit, a man who you'd saved without reservations, and who wanted to help you in return -

It might make the brew better, in the end, and excusing it with that thought, you let him bear your weight a little.

You started to exist for the rain, for the wet plip-plip of it falling into your cauldron. It filled every part of you, that sound, and the dampness of your hair sticking to your face. In this hushed quiet, he spoke, a few murmured words that you almost couldn't hear over the downpour.

"This is all very strange, I must confess, but... I'm willing to appreciate this magic of yours, because it is so important to you."

You paused. Given your position, you couldn't really look back at him. If you did - well, he probably wouldn't be able to stand you seeing the greyness of his face right now. Before you could get your words together, though, he continued.

"Again… thank you for saving me. I am -- so, so grateful. You're, ah. You're wonderfully kind, Two-Bit, and very admirable."

"You're, ah. You're welcome." You weren’t sure what to say. Luckily, it seemed like you didn’t need to say anything.

And - with that - it was quiet once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE FLUFF??? this is all building to greater plot i promise l o l
> 
> you can always chat me up at glitterbark.tumblr.com btw i do love talking


	6. and I Don't Want to Hear Back from You Again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why can't things just be nice and simple?

Sign language was promising, you thought, walking back from the library with Gaster. It was still raining - as it had been all day - making the evening hang dreary over the world. The street lights cut little globes through the drizzle, and you watched the illuminated flecks of rain when you weren’t sneaking peeks at Gaster's practice. You’d gone to the library, to pursue Many-Name’s suggestion, and the monster had been wholly entranced by the tutorial videos you’d watched on those big, boxy screens. He seemed so focused, and there was something oddly relaxing about the sight of his white bone hands shifting into various shapes. He’d caught on much quicker than you -- the man was frightfully intelligent -- and whenever he formed a word you didn’t recognize, you asked about it. He was always happy to show you again, even when you had to ask him about the same sign repeatedly.

Technically, you didn’t need to learn yourself, but you tried anyway as a display of solidarity. Besides, he’d need someone to practice with, and you were fully committed to helping him reintegrate into the world as best as he could. It’d become more and more clear that no one could understand him but you, for reasons you could only theorize about. Was it due to the mutual influence of the Beast? Was it simply some weird talent you’d never had the chance to discover before? Was it because you’d half-died, so long ago? Did that give you special powers?

It was something you thought about a lot, because if you knew what it _was_ you could maybe _fix it,_ but no matter how many magical texts you combed through, you couldn’t find anything helpful. You weren’t finding much that helped you decipher Gaster at all, really, anything that seemed remotely similar had been written in the _old_ old days, and you didn’t have access to power like that.

You were going to keep looking, of course, seeing him squint as he ran through various basic signs gave you the determination to do so. As did seeing the sudden, excited twinkle of the lights in his eyes as he noticed movement through the window of a restaurant. It was one of those Italian places with huge, front facing windows into the kitchen, allowing you to watch the chefs working the dough with white-dusted hands and aprons. This fascinated Gaster, and he gasped, pressing his bony hands up against the glass and illuminating the circular holes in his palms. His umbrella slipped, the handle bumping against his shoulder, and you reached over to catch it.  
  
“They’re making pizza!” he dinged as he leaned forward. “You can watch them do it!

“You can,” you replied, barely restraining a laugh. “You can even go in and eat it.”

He looked at you, clearly dazzled. You couldn’t help but ask, “What, they didn’t have restaurants down Underground?”

“They _did,_ but none where you could watch your food being made.” He turned back to the dough being tossed, although he startled and backed off when the chef looked up and gave him a curious look. “Uh. I’m sorry!”

“...Who are you apologizing too?” you asked, stifling a snort. “He can’t hear you!”

“I, uhh…” He hesitated a bit. The chef was staring, a bit, and oh, you sure hoped things weren’t going to get weird. A lot of humans were still uncomfortable around monsters, you knew what it was like. The chef stared for a few moments, and then - without comment - resumed his work.

That could have gone a lot worse. “Do you want to go in and eat?”

Gaster turned his gaze to you. “What?”

“Go in? Be seated? Look at the menus and pick something that sounds good? If we’re lucky, maybe get served some food?”

“You mean -- dinner? Get dinner here?”

You splayed your palm over your face, smiling behind your hand. “That’s what I was suggesting, yes.”

“I don’t… money? I don’t have money.” Apparently, he was still a bit embarrassed, so you decided to take the oh-so-gentle approach of just grabbing his arm and dragging him to the door.

“I never go out, I’ll treat you. C’mon.”

Doctor Gaster was powerless to resist, as he often was when it came to you.

 

* * *

 

It was just as you were mulling over how little news there’d been that Many-Names walked into your store. It wasn’t surprising that they hadn’t given you any forewarning, but still, seeing them clumping up to your counter still made you start as you looked up from the complex, half-metaphorical text you’d been trying to decipher. Silently, you cursed yourself for not having noticed the bell. You were seriously off your game, lately.

Sometimes you were fine, but sometimes this vague, dizzy exhaustion consumed you, and it was all you could do to not let Gaster notice. You didn't want him to worry more than he already did. _You_ were the one who saved _him,_ after all, he shouldn't find it necessary to take care of you.

Try as hard as you might, Many-Names noticed immediately. "Wow, you look like shit," were the first words out of their mouth as they settled in front of the counter. "Hello, by the way."

"Hi," you put that little extra effort into pepping up your voice, because you were _so_ going to play it cool. "It's just the heat. I'm pretty sure I could go out there and fry some eggs."

They grunted noncommittally, crossing their arms and looking around. "Where's Gaster?"

You didn't actually know the answer to that question, scrunching up your nose in thought. "Reading, probably? He goes through books like the Inquisitor goes through shirts."

Many-Names snorted. The both of you knew about the man's propensity for disaster. "How's he doing? Made any progress?"

You sighed, resting your cheek against your fist. "He's doing well, it seems, He's getting used to how things work up here. Thanks for the sign language suggestion, by the way, it's giving him a lot more agency." Your smile turned into a sigh, and you gestured vaguely to the book in front of you. "Otherwise, I’m not making a lot of headway, though maybe I’ve got a lead.”

“Mmn?” They moved, joining you behind the counter and looking over your shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Most of it is impenetrable gobbledygook, at least to me, but you know those old druidic nature rituals? Communing with the earth, and the like? It’s almost August; Lughnasadh could be a good time to get him the blessing of nature itself. Maybe that’d be enough to keep anything bad from happening.” You tapped a passage, looking up at Many-Names. They hummed lightly.

“It’s worth thinking about. Have you spoken to the Witch of the Western Woods yet?”

“Nope. I have to get an offering; you know how picky she is. Uh, how about you? Any news on your… problem?”

A heavy sigh, and Many-Names leaned back against the wall. “Nothing definitive, however, all evidence points to the… ritual being conducted by someone with very limited training. It stank of inexperience, and I can find little purpose for it other than experimentation. As far as welcoming the Beast into the world, it was useless, so I can only imagine doing that was a complete accident.”

“So… we’ve got an untrained blood magician running around?” Your eyebrows shot up, and you slung an arm across your chair. “Weird. How the heck would that have happened?”

“Perhaps someone who escaped the purging of Moss-Side?” Many-Names rubbed their temple. “No... more likely, a student of a survivor. Blood magic isn’t something that the untrained normally just _stumble upon_ unless they frenzy, and I found no evidence of that. What they were trying to do, though, is beyond me. Perhaps what they wanted didn’t exist, and they stumbled upon a place that _literally_ didn’t exist instead? Either way, inexperience explains the purposelessness of what was done, and why no one tried to stop us when we fixed it. Likely, they panicked and ran.”

Your gaze darkened, and it took you a moment to reply. “So… could be some kid out there being taken advantage of by some of the remaining dregs from Moss-Side?”

“That's the long and short of it.” Many-Names tapped their arm. “Well, we’re going to keep our eyes open for something like that, now. Once we find them, we can get them some help, and proper punishment for their teacher."

An uncomfortable pause, and then you admitted, “...I’m glad it’s definitely not one of ours who frenzied,” Crazy Beast worshipers were still pretty bad, but...

“Aye. I didn’t think it was at the time, even, but it's still -- “ The both of you paused, a sound catching your mutual attention. A clunking from your walls, a rumbling, and then --

They turned a surprised look to you. “Did you hire someone to fix your air-conditioning?

You ignored the unspoken _again_ tacked onto their sentence. “I sure didn’t,” you said, moving to stand.

You had a lot of questions, and most of them were answered when Gaster excitedly descended the stairs. “Aha! I think I got it!”

“You -- “ Despite figuring out what had happened, you still couldn’t quite believe it. “You fixed my air-conditioning?” It was true, sweet, sweet cool air seemed to be pouring out of the vents in the ceiling. The burden of summer was being lifted off of your shoulders, and you could only stare at him in awe.

“I did! It took all morning, but I figured out how to -- Oh!” He stopped himself, finally noticing Many-Names. “Hello, Ada! It’s good to…” He trailed off, then, and began using a few of the signs he’d learned.

[Good afternoon!] He paused a bit, finger spelling their name. [It’s nice to see you.]

“It’s nice to see you too,” Many-Names spoke and signed at the same time, likely to give Gaster some actual hands on (pft!) experience with the language. ”How are you?”

[Good,] Gaster responded, then paused, as if he was trying to gather together the right motions to convey what he wanted to say. Seeming to give up, he gestured to Many-Names, inquiring the same of themselves.

“Busy. I actually should take off. Don’t really have time to chit-chat, got a kid to find.” You didn’t recognize a lot of the words they used - it seemed like Gaster didn’t, either. They pushed themselves off the wall, heading towards the door with a languid wave. “Glad to see you two are doing well. I’ll drop by later.”

[Kid?] Gaster signed, and then looked to you. “What kid?”

“We think whoever pulled that stunt in Melbourne park was probably young and badly trained,” you said vaguely, then called after Many-Names, “Toodles, you dolt!”

They stopped at the door, hand settled on the frame. “By the way, Lady Dogwitch is still on the hunt. She’s trying to be subtle about it, since, y’know…” They inclined their head in Gaster’s direction. “...Being too overt about things could end badly, which is why it’s taking awhile.”

“Good to know. Thanks.”

Since they’d stopped to look back, Gaster had the opportunity to sign, [Thank you. Goodbye.]

They chuckled slightly, leaving and shutting your door. Once your attention had returned to the monster beside you, he asked, “Badly trained?”

“Yeah, um, probably trained by…well, before the monsters came to the surface, there was a place in this city called Spaghorde Castle. It’s, um, fallen to ruin now, because -- “ you paused. “Well, a lot of stuff happened. There was a cult there, of those who practiced blood magic, and so… even though they were eliminated, it’s possible that some of the lower ranking members of that cult are still around. Ada thinks that one of them might have poached a kid with talent, badly trained them to use the magic of the blood - and then… they started playing around with things they ought not to.”

He stared at you contemplatively, and you couldn’t quite meet his gaze, so you quickly forced out, “Anyway, dull stuff -- about my AC, though, you fixed it? Seriously?”

Gaster seemed a little befuddled at the topic change, but he nodded a bit, deciding not to press it. “It wasn’t too hard. I just needed to figure out how it all worked.”

“Wow,” you beamed up at him, voice steeped in admiration. You would much rather focus on how wonderful Gaster was, rather than... well, anything else. “You’re an absolute _dream._ I can’t thank you enough, jeez.”

He looked down at you, turning a little grey and coughing a little at the praise. “It, ah, wasn’t any trouble. None at all.”

“Keep this up, and I’m gonna have a real hard time giving you back to your brothers, you know?” You laughed, looking back down at your book. “I’ll be done with this soon. I wanna take a few more notes before I’m finished for the day.”

As you looked away, drawn to your book, you missed how conflicted his expression had become. Of course, if you weren’t so distracted, he probably would have tried to hide it better. Neither of you wanted to worry the other, after all, even as you thought about dark things like cults and blood and the precarious future.

X

 

If the Primus had been five minutes later, he would have entirely missed you, as you planned to go out with Gaster right after closing the store. Unfortunately for you, he was the sort of man who never showed up too late, and so it was just as you were standing to lock up that he pushed open the door, stalking inside with the authority of a hurricane. You stopped mid-motion, key in your hand as you stared dumbly at him.

For a moment, the Primus eyed you, gloved hand lingering on the edge of the door. Inquisitor Legbiter trailed in behind him, tipping his grey bucket hat towards you in acknowledgement. Frankly, it was kind of ridiculous to see, but you figured that was the point - the Primus and his Inquisitor were a study in contrasts, after all. Both were tall with dark hair, true, but that was about where the similarities ended.

Immediately noticeable was the Inquisitor’s darker complexion and milder demeanor, having much less presence compared to the man who insisted on wearing a suit for all occasions. He kept his hair in a well-maintained, long braid and allowed a smattering of stubble on his jaw, while the Primus sported the poster-child of short, professional, no-nonsense haircuts and had an immaculately groomed beard. Time had treated them both quite differently. Though Inquisitor Legbiter was not much younger than his liege, his hair was still thick and dark, not having any of the salt that peppered the hair of his Primus.

They were both still dangerous men, though, albeit in much different ways. Despite the Inquisitor’s more approachable appearance, you knew that you should beware the swords slung to his back and the one given a special place of honor at his side. You’d seen first-hand how ferociously skilled he was at combat, and he always had a trick up his sleeve - and by trick, you meant knives. Lots of knives. Inquisitor Legbiter was a walking nightmare for airport security, but, luckily for everyone involved, wizards didn’t often travel.

“Good evening, Two-Bit,” the Primus said, approaching your counter, footsteps clicking threateningly on the wood. Well, okay. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt you, or anything, but the Primus just _oozed_ “I am a scary and powerful man who has never had an ounce of fun in his life." It was, quite frankly, highly intimidating.

“Hello, sir,” you managed, stepping back behind your counter for protection. Gaster didn’t say anything, hovering near you and seeming uncertain about what to do. “Wasn’t expecting to see you, today.”

“I thought we should have a talk,” he said, letting his gaze linger on Gaster for a moment. “Privately. It won’t take up much of your time.”

“Right. I suppose I was expecting this,” you said, then jangled your keys a little. “Mind if I lock up first, so no one comes in? We can use the back room.”

He dipped his head towards you, indicating that this was fine, and you set back off towards the door, calling behind you. “Sorry, Gaster. We’ll go to the library after this.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, and the sound of his voice drew a curious glance from the Inquisitor. The Primus pointedly ignored him, which made you wince internally. You _knew_ his Opinions, but seeing them demonstrated first hand - particularly while you couldn’t really say anything, given your position - was… well.

Well, you’d treat Gaster as nicely as you could to make up for it, you supposed.

The click of the lock settled like a dull thud in your heart, and you sighed, checking the door one more time before turning to face your doom. “Alright, do you want some tea, or anything?” you asked purely out of politeness sake, because you knew the answer would be no.

“No.” The Primus was a man who met all of your expectations.

“Alright.” You trudged forward, then glanced back at Legbiter. “You coming too?”

“I’ll wait down here,” he finally spoke, crossing his arms. “I don’t imagine we’ll be here for long.”

“Right. Feel free to read while you’re down there,” you said to the both of them, and then proceeded up the stairs. The Primus followed you, and man, you could feel the intensity of his presence prickling on the back of your neck.

Gaster watched you, clear concern on his face, and the Inquisitor watched him, like some sort of conga line of contemplation. Then, rustling around in his pockets like one might search for cigarettes, he drew out…

...Two lollipops.

“Want one?” He asked, proffering a strawberry Dum-Dum to Gaster.

“Oh, no thank -- “ he began, then realizing the man couldn’t understand him, shook his head.

“Suit yourself.” Then, without comment, he unwrapped both and stuck them in his mouth. “Letsh me do m’walrush impreshin.”

At first, Gaster could only vaguely stare, until the Inquisitor continued - slurred, as his mouth was full - “Inquishiter Legbiter, nice t’meet’cha.”

Laughing lightly, Gaster offered his hand, and the Inquisitor smiled around the lollipop sticks as he took it. They were probably going to have a much nicer time than you.  
Well, no -- definitely, considering once you’d closed the door behind you, the first words out of the Primus’ mouth were, “We need to talk about Gaster.”


	7. But What Even is a Right Number, Anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some theories are had. Some motivations are revealed. And - as is typical - you doubt yourself.

“Uh,” you began, eloquently and full of confidence as always. “Uh, um, what do we need to talk about?”

“Sit,” he gestured sharply, indicating the little area you had set up outside of the kitchen. You settled down in a chair, folding your hands in your lap, and he took a seat across from you, leaning forward with an intent expression. “I’ve heard you’re making progress on getting Doctor Gaster home.”

“I think so, I mean, this is all pretty weird. But yeah.” You paused, not able to meet his fierce gaze. “I’m planning a ritual, then I think we can safely take him to his family.”

“Good. I want you to do that as soon as you can, and then I want him out. After you’ve done your duty to him, leave him be and don’t maintain any contact. Do you understand?”

Your heart thudded dully in your chest, and you felt like it’d slip out of your mouth as you spoke. “Wh-what? Why?”

He brought his hand to his face, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I knew Many-Names saw you as something of a foster student, but I didn’t realize you shared their _bullheaded_ denial of the facts.”

“Wait,” you managed, your head already going light and foggy. “Foster student?”

The Primus stared at you like you’d suddenly grown a second head. “Of _course --_ look. This conversation isn’t about you and Many-Names. This is about how monsters are heretics and _their king is a murderer.”_

“I -- I don’t think -- “ you began, but he continued, already worked into something of a fervor.

“Two-Bit, I am the master of _barriers._ There is no one in a thousand miles who knows more about them than me. Believe me when I tell you, there is absolutely no conceivable way that that barrier could have been broken by anything but _seven human souls._ ” His fists tightened on his knees, and he stared at you with absolute conviction. “I’ve seen that man’s eyes. The king bears death on his shoulders; I am _certain._ ”

“That’s -- that’s… that’s just the king. Gaster is _nice._ He’s so kind, if you’d just talk to him, you’d see. He wouldn’t…”

“Really? The Royal Scientist? Do you _imagine he wasn’t complicent?_ Have you truly thought about what that man might have _done?_ Monsters treat the soul like it’s a toy, or -- no, even _worse,_ like a thing to be _dissected,_ to be _examined._ Humans and monsters fought a _war_ over the sanctity of the soul!” He took a deep breath, likely to calm himself. “...Have you really thought about what sort of vile work it must have taken to land him in the state you found him in?”

 _Gaster,_ you remembered yourself asking. _How do you know that you can extract DT from humans?_

That tomorrow had never come, had it? You swallowed and rasped, “They were desperate. That vile pit -- it must have been horrible.”

“Hah,” he laughed sharply and without mirth. “So I have heard Many-Names yell _many_ a time. That welcoming them would be recompense for our actions in the past, a way to atone for hundreds of years of suffering…” His tone turned mournful - dark and bitter. “I have dreamed. I have dreamed so deeply. I’ve seen our Queen, and I’ve seen her vile fate. I maintain the barrier that her curse radiates from. Two-Bit, there is nothing that shall pardon us, any of us. There is no mercy for us. And -- ...there is no mercy for them, up here. That vile pit kept them _safe._ It kept _us_ safe.”

You stared at your hands, and you could feel the truth of his words on them, just as distinctly as you felt the blood still staining your skin. Dust -- how would you look, covered with it? The thought made you want to vomit.

You both sat there for a moment, silent. Then, the Primus spoke, his voice thin and quiet. “...My distaste for Asgore is infamous,” he began, folding his hands and bowing his head. “But I do not hate his people, despite their folly. I simply… I have to think of what’s best for us, at all times. The monsters returning… harkens to a dark future. One with the potential of a new Queen Ranunculae, for a new curse, for a new breed of demon that craves the sweet dust of shattered monster’s souls. You’ve heard us debate. I’ve admitted to the futility of forcing them back underground. This is something we must face. _But._ ”

He looked up at you. “It’s best - for all of us - to keep temptations to a minimum. Think _very_ seriously about the true character of the man you have allowed to share your home. What he has done, and what he may do to you. Where his loyalties may ultimately lie -- “

“Gaster would never hurt me,” you interjected, spurred on to defend his character. “He’s -- Even, even if he’s done bad things, I think he’s learned, I think… I couldn’t ever imagine…”

The Primus was quiet, looking at you over the coffee table, and then, “You thought the Cerebrum would never hurt you, either.”

The pain of that statement shot to your very core, and you bent over, pulling your knees up into you and hiding your face. You had, hadn’t you? _You had trusted her._ Would Gaster -- could Gaster? That sweet, gentle man, with that warm, dizzying light dancing in his eyes? You didn’t say anything more. You _couldn’t._

“Two-Bit -- “ he prompted you lightly, and you felt the name prickle on the back of your neck. _Half-rate. Useless._ “I… cannot forbid you from doing anything. However, a mages soul is a tempting thing. I may not be able to help you, should something unfortunate happen.”

You still didn’t say anything, and so he stood, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve said all I wished to. If you learned anything from the Inquisitor of Spaghorde, you will know what you must do. Goodbye.”

He watched you for a few moments, and then stiffened his shoulders and turned to go.

The Primus descended the steps, the creaks reminiscent of a funeral parlor. Inquisitor Legbiter stopped in the middle of detailing the escapade that had cost him two shirts in one night. Both he and Gaster watched the older man return to the ground floor in silence, apprehension filling the room. Once he’d settled on the bottom step, he turned to his Inquisitor, saying simply, “Let us go.”

“Where’s Two-Bit?” Gaster asked uselessly, as worry had clouded his judgement. “Are -- they alright?”

Without saying anything further, the Primus clicked over to the door, wrenching it open. He turned, though, looking back to the monster and acknowledging him for the first time. “I hope they’re right about you,” he said, gaze as fierce as a bird of prey. “Because otherwise, I will find you, and I will _tear you limb from limb._ Understand?”

Gaster did not understand. Still, he was cowed enough to say _absolutely nothing_ and nod with wide, terrified eyes.

“Good. Inquisitor.” He turned, storming into the growing evening.

With a heavy sigh, Inquisitor Legbiter patted Gaster on the shoulder. “Sorry,” he huffed a bit, eyes trained on the door. “He’s kind of a cactus.” With that, he broke away from the stunned man, stepping quickly after his liege.

For a few moments more, Gaster stared for a long moment before snapping himself back to reality and bolting up the stairs to check on you.

 

* * *

 

“So,” the Inquisitor drawled, thumbs in his pockets as he kept pace with the Primus. ”So how loud did things get? I couldn’t hear you from downstairs, so it must not have been that bad.”

“I’m not in the mood,” he hissed, losing any grace he’d maintained with you.

“Alright,” he replied neutrally, examining the profile of his companion. “Want to talk about it?”

The Primus said nothing, only fuming and quickening his pace. He didn’t seem to have much of a destination in mind, simply letting his feet take him wherever they willed, and for a long while, Legbiter was content to simply follow him. Eventually, though - and this was quite a substantial _eventually_ , as the Inquisitor was a patient fellow - he reached out, taking the well dressed man’s elbow and hauling him into a secluded alley. Now, it’s important to note that, despite his rather laid-back appearance, Inquisitor Legbiter had his position for a reason, namely, because of his formidable strength. He climbed buildings for shits and giggles and lifted boulders simply because he could. Pickle jars were no match for his fearsome might. In contrast...

The Primus was, by all accounts, a nerd. A pathetically weak nerd who was extremely easy to pin in place, looking quite out of place among the soggy cardboard and bits of refuse littering the alley. Legbiter kept him there, intently searching his face. “What happened? Something's obviously bothering you, a _lot_.”

He met Legbiter’s gaze with an irritated glower, neither of them backing down as the latter continued to speak. “You only get this worked up over Asgore, but whatever it is must not be an immediate threat, or you’d have told me already. So, it’s something you’re uncertain about, and, furthermore, it’s something you’re having a lot of trouble proving. It also probably involves Gaster, as you suddenly changed your mind about just letting things play out, so…” he thought for a long moment. “...You think Asgore has something to do with all this. Why?”

The line of his mouth softened, a bit, and his gaze dropped to the concrete. “...What would you do to make a connection to a place home to things discarded by the Grand Order? Things that don't really exist?”

“Mmn.” Legbiter thought. “You definitely wouldn’t use anything associated with Mars or fire, which makes it _totally_ out of my sphere. Uh… water, I guess? You’d use something governed by water. If we’re going by constellations… Cancer, Scorpio, or Pisces. Uh… The moon? Bridge the gap through a dream? ...No, that wouldn’t be sustainable, not without a soul, and we didn’t find anything like that. Same thing with Neptune - too inactive, too focused on receiving rather than finding.” A pause, then, “Pluto. Pluto’s perfect. Associated with Scorpio, all about secrets and transformation, and like, you’ve got the whole controversy aspect to work off of. Is it a planet? Is it not? That’d be great for making contact with something that doesn’t really exist. Obscure as hell, though.”

“Exactly. Pluto is perfect, but it’s so _obscure._ There are very few sects that venerate Pluto; the Order of Persephone being the largest, and even they barely have a presence outside the north. That doesn’t really fit the profile Many-Names gave us.”

“Moss Side favored the water aligned planets due to their resonance with blood. I could see one of them being trained in the traditions of Pluto.”

“It’s unlikely. The Cerebrum much prefered the Moon. Her goal - in her words - was to unveil the ancient truth of our existence by communing with blood. There’s no celestial body closer to blood than Luna.”

“True, but it’s still not out of the question.” Inquisitor Legbiter peered at him for a moment. “But you’ve got another theory.”

A long pause. “Primus?” Legbiter prompted, then murmured, soft and gentle,  “...Alan?”

This finally got him to speak. “Who gains something from the return of the Royal Scientist?”

A careful pause. “...His brothers, Sans and Papyrus, and… King Asgore. What, you don’t think the end goal was Gaster himself, do you?”

“A lot of things make a lot more sense if it was. It would give this entire affair a purpose. We’ve been assuming - due to the shoddy, inelegant way the spell was formed -- that the only reason why it didn’t collapse was because the caster, by some _happenstance,_ connected the spell to Gaster. But what if that _was_ the point?

“...Only the monsters even have a chance of knowing about Gaster,” the Inquisitor said, furrowing his brow. “And even that’s uncertain.”

“Asgore’s been alive for a long, long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could maintain his memories despite that sort of fuckery.”

“Okay…” Finally, Legbiter noticed that he was still kinda, y’know, keeping the Primus pinned in place. He paused, pulling back and then scooting so he was next to him, arms crossed and leaning back. “So, you think Asgore has motive to try to reclaim his old Royal Scientist. Sure, I can buy that, I guess, except… uh… who would he get to do that? And why is Gaster still staying with Two-Bit, in that case? Wouldn’t the King have, y’know, picked him up?”

“...If you were a monster, and desperately wanted access to humanity’s ability to create miracles… What would you do?”

Legbiter squinted. “The replication of magic through science. I mean, that’s what they _have_ done.” A pause. “I guess there’s also the whole trying to steal a soul, thing, but that was hundreds of years a-- “ Suddenly, the Inquisitor smacked his hand on the brick of the building behind him, looking over at Alan. “You think Asgore’s gotten his hands on a _wizard’s soul?_ ”

“No, although I’m still worried that might be the eventual outcome, which is why I want Two-Bit very, very far from this situation. No, no… If you were a monster, and wanted human magic, what is the _simplest_ answer to the problem? Think along the lines of a five year old, now.”

“Uh…” Legbiter fiddled with the brim of his hat. “...If you want to do magic… learn how to be a wizard? But that’s impossible; they don’t have strong enough souls for it.”

“You’re right. Most monsters can’t even come close to the necessary amount of power needed. But.” Alan paused. “...Of all the monsters in the world… wouldn’t you say King Asgore is the strongest? The other being Her Majesty, of course.”

“...You’re saying Asgore has magic; _our_ magic.”

Alan rubbed his mouth with his hand. “A cheap and shallow approximation of it, maybe, but something that’s _enough._ Remember -- there is a very, very good chance his _father_ was responsible for the attempted theft of our Queen’s soul. Who’s to say he didn’t pass his desires down to his son? Who’s to say that, down Underground, the monsters didn’t try to make that dream into a reality? Who’s to say that they didn’t _succeed?_ ”

The Inquisitor blinked, obviously trying to process all this. “So your theory is that our culprit is _Asgore._ ”

“Yes. Now, even with power, there’s no way a monster could follow the traditions of the sky, given how far we kept them from the stars. Keeping that in mind… what better place to draw power from than _Pluto,_ whose traditions are poorly established in human society due to its _newness_ and quasi-planetary status? Pluto’s domains are rebirth, transformation, and the _underworld._ It’s… feasible. All Asgore needed to do was cause a fuss, really, let us sort out the rest and then have us return Gaster to his rightful home.”

Legbiter stared at his companion like he was insane. “That’s,” a pause. “Really, really complicated.”

“And when has anything we’ve dealt with _not_ been complicated?”

“Fair.” The Inquisitor knocked his head back against the wall. “I think… okay. First off, do you even want to hear what I think? I figure you’re still not certain about a lot of this, which is why you didn’t tell me.”

“Go ahead.” Alan looked away, frowning.

“Okay. First off. Why Asgore? Why not Toriel?”

Immediately, Alan’s gaze was back on his Inquisitor, a deep frown set on his features. “Her Majesty seems to find Asgore just as distasteful as I do, which speaks a lot to her character. Asgore makes far more sense.”

Legbiter burst into fierce laughter. “Hah! Adorable! You really are fond of the Queen of the Monsters! Do I have to be jealous?”

“Wh--...” Alan paused, flushing a bit and scowling deeper. “I -- she is a refined, elegant woman with a strong moral compass who is absolutely a testament to her people!”

The Primus would probably have a heart attack if he heard her telling a _knock-knock joke._

“Mmm. She’s one of the “good ones”, huh?”

“Oh -- lay off.” Alan spread his palm over his face. “You all act like I’m some sort of monster because my first response isn’t, 'oh, let’s openly welcome and accept the creatures that lead to our utter damnation, yes, that won’t end poorly for _anyone.'_  I _have_ to be suspicious, so you all can remain idealistic dreamers.”

“...I think, in this instance, you might be too paranoid. Asgore? Knowing thaumaturgy? It’s kind of absurd. Still, though. Let’s work with the theory that reaching out to Gaster was intentional. What about that human child? The so-called savior or the monsters… Frisk?”

“Frisk,” Alan paused. ‘I’ve met them. A quiet child, although something about them unsettles me greatly. Why?”

“What if _they’re_ the mage?”

“We’d _notice,_ ” Alan insisted, shaking his head. “It’s hard to obscure someone with talent.”

“...Unless they've been  _trained,_ then we wouldn't notice at all. And... if you can accept that Asgore managed to, somehow, acquire enough knowledge about our teachings that he could perform passable thaumaturgy... then why couldn't he learn enough to help a child reach their potential?"

Alan paused. The pause lengthened. Gears turned, and finally… “You know…  That might actually make sense. An inexperienced but talented child, doing the bidding of their father...”

Legbiter looked at Alan.

Alan looked at Legbiter.

“Well,” the Inquisitor said. “My evening is free.”

Spinning on his heel, the Primus marched out of the alley, his Inquisitor trailing along behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god this wasn't supposed to be seven straight pages of the primus talking shit but christ this chapter was suppose to start introducing the war and asgore as plot elements and i thought it'd be more interesting to contrast the primus' super negative opinions of him with the king fluffybuns we all know and love
> 
> shit i hope conversations are interesting for now i swear things will happen eventually


	8. This is Probably Better Suited for a Hotline.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You comfort a very sad goop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a big, long conversation about suicide in this chapter! Nothing graphic is described, but, you know.

The question of whether or not you were okay was a matter of semantics. Really, what was okay? It was being functional, right? And you were definitely functional. You got up in the morning, you showered, you ate your traditional banana, you forced yourself through your workout (ignoring how you collapsed mid push-up because why were you so _tired),_ opened the store, handled customers requesting both magical and mundane services, and cheerfully diverted the topic when Gaster tried to ask you, _what happened with the Primus, what’s wrong, Two-Bit, are you okay._

You were just fine. Sure, it felt like your stomach was rotting, and you couldn’t quite catch your breath half the time, but you were definitely, one-hundred percent functioning, so absolutely nothing was wrong!

Your logic was, as always, impeccable. 

Anyway, only a day had passed since your meeting the Primus. You’d be in tip-top shape soon enough! You just! You know! Were panicking, just a little bit, because…

...Well, probably because trust was super scary and you trusted Gaster and the Primus -- he was right. The only thing comforting you was that if your friend turned on you, you could probably kill him, and that was _so_ fucked up.

You paused in your thoughts, rubbing at your eye socket with your thumb. Swear jar.

Briefly distracted from your reminiscence, you looked around, wondering where Gaster had gotten off to. Last you saw, he’d given up on trying to pry anything out of you and had holed himself up to read some huge book he’d gotten from the library. It was kind of cute, really, he got this super focused look on his face when he was reading, like it was just him and the book and nothing else existed. You could be saying something right to him, and he wouldn’t hear you at all, it was adorable --

Realizing where your train of thought was taking you, you sighed, smacking your forehead on the counter. This... was pretty bad.

You picked yourself up when you heard the click of the upstairs door and the odd sound of shifting fabric that characterized Gaster’s movements. Halfway down the steps, he peered over the banister, looking for something, and his mouth pulled into a smile when he saw you sitting there behind your counter. “I made tea,” he called out, lifting up the tray in his hands to bring attention to its presence. Apparently, he’d dusted off your teapot, which wasn’t surprising - the pair of you had gone to the herbalist to buy some fresh tea after you’d learned of his fondness for the drink.

“Oh! Thanks, that’s very nice of you.” Deciding to do what you do best - that is, bury your problems in a box deep, deep inside of yourself and pretend they don’t exist - you beckoned him over, pushing the little charm you’d been carving for a client aside to make room for him.

Gaster had an odd little habit where he would consistently refuse any chair you offered him, but he was perfectly alright with sitting on desks, tables, and things not really designed for sitting on, so when he joined you, he set the tray down with a soft ‘clink’ and pushed himself up onto your counter before leaning over to pour the tea from your floral-patterned pot. “It’s jasmine, if that’s alright.”

“Nooooo,” you drawled out, propping your chin on your hand. “It’s awful. What sort of loser buys things they like?”

“Well, ah.” He paused, then - as he often did - he tried to justify his actions rather than calling you out on your blatant teasing. “You can like something but not be in the mood for it!”

You laughed lightly, picking up your cup and shifting back into your chair. “Don’t worry. I’m in the mood.”

“Well, ah, I’m glad.” He flushed slightly, turning down to look into his cup, and you didn’t quite understand. Gaster could be a pretty weird guy, sometimes.

It struck you suddenly that you had some news. “Oh! So, uh, I was thinking I’d go visit the Forest Witch today. I bought some almond cakes from a baker that I’ll pick up after work; she loves those.”

“Ah, is that the Witch of the Western Woods I heard you mention before?”

“Yeah. There are other magicians out in the countryside, but she’s kind of the most… hardcore, I guess, so some of us just call her the Forest Witch for short. Anyway, you’re welcome to come along, if you want. I don’t think she’d dislike you much.”

“Er… dislike me _much_? I’d hate to be a problem.”

“Uhhh…” You paused, and the vague hurt-but-understanding expression on his face tore your heart in two. Quickly, you made a verbal leap to clarify. “I mean, she dislikes everyone, and I think she’d dislike you less than most people. And any unfriendliness wouldn’t be because you’re a monster, but because she’s...” You searched for a way to politely call someone an angry hermit. “...unsociable.

“Oh.” A pause. “Well, I’ve met quite a few people like that in my time. I understand. Well, if it’s not a problem, I’d like to come.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, then sipped at your tea to give you a pause to think. You kinda didn’t want to make the journey alone, especially since it’d be getting dark by the time you came back. And you…

….well. You had a night-light for a reason. There probably wouldn’t ever be a time when you were comfortable walking around in the dark alone.

You were about to say something when the door to your shop opened, allowing sunshine and a number of gleaming pelts to stream into your store.

The woman who stepped in lightly - her small, dainty shoes, flanked by a number of paws both great and small - was truly, absolutely, strikingly beautiful. Elegance clung to her like expensive perfume, seeped so intimately into her being that it influenced her entire demanor. She held herself regally, head level and back straight, and that same carefulness of posture was reflected in her fine, well maintained hands and her clear, dark complexion. Her hair, braided finely, reminded you in coloration of those wise old oaks growing in Castle Spaghorde, and the brown of her eyes was a few shades lighter. Her dress wouldn’t look out of place in a museum exhibit on 18th century French fashions, with a wide, long skirt and carefully ornate ruffles, but, despite the company she kept, she was perfectly, immaculately clean.

It might be prudent to wonder, for a moment, as to how Lady Dogwitch maintained her aesthetic despite being the caretaker of all the homeless dogs in the city. The answer was this.

The Lady Dogwitch had access to the most enviable miracle of them all. She never got dirty, no matter what.

“Ahh! Good afternoon, my Lady!” You beamed, standing respectfully as soon as she’d entered. With a soft tnk, you set your cup down, and then bowed your head and knelt before her.

It should be said that there was no particular reason to greet the Lady of the Hounds so formally. She claimed no impressive birthright; her power and station was equal to most magi in the domain. Neither the Primus nor the Inquisitor - the highest authorities you all answered to - didn’t claim the same respect that Lady Dogwitch did, despite them both being older, more well established, and bearing much more important duties. No, there was nothing forcing you to kneel in front of Lady Dogwitch, standing there, framed by the afternoon light.

You did it because you - and everyone else in the city - loved seeing her light up and giggle so wonderfully as you treated her like royalty, and as the dogs took this as a signal that it was acceptable to swarm around you, butts wiggling, tongues flopping, and wanting to be petted yesssss good that’s the spot, that’s the spoooooot. You could hear tails whipping through the air as they pressed up around you with pure, innocent joy. And -- well. Perhaps, also, because it felt nice to pretend to still be a knight, sometimes.

You gathered as many dogs to you as you could, and buried your face in their fluff, ohhhh, furry dogs, yes, yessss good.

Gaster, of course, understood none of this and, upon seeing you kneel, joined you in a panic, thinking he’d been rude for not showing proper respect to a real Lady. Nor was he quite sure what to do when - suddenly - there were dogs, dogs everywhere, big ones, small ones, all wanting pets and affection.

“Heel!” The Lady said, seeming to realize that Gaster was getting overwhelmed. “Ahh, that means you too, Potato, heel!”

A somewhat chastised chocolate lab extracted itself from Gaster’s face, sitting in front of the monster and panting thoroughly.

“Hello, Doctor Gaster, hello Two-Bit,” she said, gently closing the door behind herself. She was somewhat less striking when not framed by the afternoon sun, but she still commanded attention with her ornate appearance.

You pushed yourself to your feet, smiling, and Gaster followed your lead. “Hey there, good to see you,” you replied. “Want some tea? Gaster here just made some.”

[YOU’RE WELCOME TO JOIN US,] he signed, and you weren’t sure if Lady Dogwitch was fluent or not, but you were pretty sure she understood the intent.

“That would be lovely, although, not everyone here is well-behaved, so I should take care of this lot first.” She eyed a droopy looking spotted mutt who was sniffing around a corner, clearly shaming it for some past-transgression. “I have some news for you two.”

“We can just go into the back garden.” Technically, it wasn’t really yours - but neither was it anybody else’s, so everyone who had a shop that had a back entrance into the rough little square had all decided to share it. The idea of turning it into a garden had come from the little lady who ran the sandwich place next door who had something of a green thumb. You’d contributed happily - not only was it nice to have a larger space to grow things, but also because places like that really helped you work magic. Magic was a thing of hidden gems and contradictions, after all, and what better example of that is an oasis in an alleyway?

“Oh, excellent. That’ll be a great place to talk. Gaster,” she turned to the monster, smiling and clapping her hands together. “I found Sans and Papyrus!"

 

* * *

 

 

 

Strange, you thought, looking over at Gaster. You’d expected him to look more… excited.

He was focused, sure, in fact, you thought it fair to call him enraptured as he hung on every word that the good lady said. But… there was an odd, serious grimness to his expression that you weren’t quite sure how to interpret.

They lived together in a little house on Holiday Avenue, in a section of the town you knew to be in Many-Name’s territory. It was a quiet street, she said, where quite a lot of monsters had found property... partially due to Many-Name’s own efforts in speaking to the city-council. (One of the many arguments they’d had with the Primus, you’d remembered, as the latter believed in segregation between the two peoples, while you remembered the former saying, at one point, holy shit, open a fucking history book and tell me again that you think that’s a good idea.) The location was a very reasonable distance from Papyrus’ workplace, a hotel owned by the first monster pop-idol, Mintytin.

Wait, no, that wasn’t right. Skittles, she’d just said it, uh.

Metybun?

Mittentun?

Metalun? Yeah, that sounded right, Metalnun.

...Anyway. He worked as a valet at Metalnun’s hotel, the MTT Resort, which - and this was some insight from Gaster - made quite a lot of sense due to the man’s fascination with cars and driving.

Apparently, quite a lot of monsters were employed at the hotel, as Metalnun was one of the first extremely successful monster businessmen -- which you had no idea of, frankly, but Lady Dogwitch knew a remarkable amount about politics. Another reason why you all called her Lady, you supposed, of those in the city, she probably fit the image of ‘well-connected courtier’ the most.

As for Sans - she had less information on him, other than he was a frequent patron at a bar called Grillby’s. Ostensibly, he also held employment at the MTT Resort, although it was difficult to discern what, precisely, he did, if anything. He didn’t work many hours.

“Huh… I wonder why Achilles didn’t recognize either of their names.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Lady Dogwitch smiled, but there was something a bit nostalgic and sad about it. “They’re kind of a homebody, really, and quite shy. It was always Beatrice who made them go out and do things, you know? So, unless it’s somebody who’s caused a problem, it’s totally understandable that -- “ A pause. She squinted. “...Achilles? Really?”

“Swear-to-my-mother, I have heard the words 'call me Achilles' come out of their mouth. They're the biggest dork.”

Lady Dogwitch reached down, running her fingers through the silky fur of a collie sitting right by the bench she’d settled on. “That is… impossible to deny,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Um,” Gaster began, looking to you. “Who’s Beatrice?”

“Beatrice is -- ummn, oh. To be honest, um, I never knew her.” You looked to Lady Dogwitch, gauging her expression.

It seemed like the years had dulled her sorrow enough that she was comfortable with speaking about it. “Beatrice was Many-Name’s wife,” she explained, looking down briefly into her tea before regarding Gaster. “Like them, she was a mage, and a quite accomplished one, at that; she studied with the previous Inquisitor - ah, of the domains that have always been part of the city proper; none of Spaghorde’s holdings.” You silently said a prayer of thanks that she didn’t look at you at that. “She wasn’t an Inquisitor herself, but she did work as his aid. I knew her quite well; she was something of an… older sister, I suppose. Not many here know of her, now, so many of the mages here are new to this area.”

You could tell Gaster had a lot of questions - he got this certain kind of look to his eyes when he wasn’t quite sure what to ask first. You didn’t blame him. You’d been purposefully avoiding talking about the city’s history, after all.

He finally settled with, “Beatrice sounds like a very…normal name for a mage.”

“Ah.” You distracted yourself with a cute, tan dog with a ratlike tail, scratching it behind its floppy ears. “Yes. After a wizard dies, they’re referred to by the name they were given at birth. It’s a custom.”

“We are mere humans in death, after all,” said Lady Dogwitch, picking up on the question. “When our burdens are lifted and we can dream our final dream…. only then will the world see us as human again.”

“I see…” he murmured, musing on this. “What does she mean, about Spaghorde’s holdings? Is that the Castle Spaghorde you mentioned before?”

The flowers were quite nice, you noticed. Bright, colorful, it’d been a good idea to plant them where they were. You’d have to thank Mrs. Clemmons later, for giving you the seedlings. The sun was warm - you could feel it on your hair and brimming over your shoulders. Somehow, it even managed to warm your too-cold hands gripping the edge of your seat.

(The pause lengthened enough to become awkward, but the words got stuck in your throat.)

“Two-Bit…?” he called softly, and it didn’t hurt (you lied to yourself).

“Uh,” you forced out. “That’s, uh -- ”

Lady Dogwitch read the mood and leapt in to save you. “...A long story, it seems like. Did you want to know more about your brothers, Gaster? As much as I’d love to, I can’t visit forever. I have people to talk to, dogs to find homes for…”

“Oh, yes! Of course. Ahh.” You finally could breathe easy now that his attention was off of you. “Oh, oh, goodness, are -- are they happy?”

You smiled fondly, his question lifting your mood. “He’s asking if they’re happy.”

Strange, though, Lady Dogwitch paused at that. “Papyrus is very happy,” she said, folding her hands and looking at the two of you. “And the both of them have a number of loyal friends - they’re both among Frisk’s associates.”

For a moment, something caught your eye - Gaster stiffened at that name.

But no attention was drawn to it, and Lady Dogwitch continued. “...and Sans… from what I’ve heard, he sounds like a very jovial, relaxed man. However -- ah, I haven’t mentioned, have I? Crane knows them both.”

“Crane?” You and Gaster said simultaneously, both with different inflections.

“Wait, we’re talking about the same Crane, right? Sleeps all day in the park, wanders around at night cleaning up Nightmares? Only seems to talk to birds? Doesn’t shower?”

Lady Dogwitch laughed. “Yes, that Crane.” To Gaster, she said, “Crane is an associate of ours. She’s… ah, well, she lives life her own way, but isn’t known for having many friends. Yet, it seems like your brothers have befriended her - Papyrus in particular. I suppose no one thought to ask her if she knew them, considering her reservation. Anyway, she has a rather keen intuition, and she said that your brother is… not doing very well. She isn’t sure why, but knowing that… When you are reunited, it might be good to show him some special consideration.”

Gaster looked down, staring at his hands. A rather strange, difficult expression crossed his face. “I see. Thank you.”

“He says he understands, and thanks.”

“Of course. I’m sorry that I can’t give you overwhelmingly good news, other than… both your brothers sound like they’re well loved by those around them. That’s all I can think to tell you, though - unless you have any more questions?”

“No,” Gaster said, and then shook his head. “Thank you again, so much. It’s… I’m so glad to know they’re not that far.”

You translated, and then reached out to take Lady Dogwitch’s finished tea. “You gotta head out now, or do you want another cup?”

“No, I should go.” She stood, brushing out her dress, and all of the dogs gathered around the garden perked up at the movement. “Thank you for the tea. Stay well, you two! And I hope business is good.”

“Of course. Thank you -- and Gaster says thanks, too, for like, the fiftieth time.” You grinned, winking at the man, but his smile in return seemed kind of weak.

Hmn.

Instead of leaving through the store, Lady Dogwitch took her hounds through the alley, ushering them all along with light commands and some idle barking. You watched her leave, waving, and as soon as the last tail disppeared throughout the alley, you looked over at Gaster.

“You okay there, buddy?”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, and you’d pulled that junk enough to know when something stank.

“No you’re not.” You approached him, getting quite close as you waggled a finger accusingly. “You’ve got ‘I’m brooding over something’ written all over your face. It’s in red marker. Very flattering.”

His gaze flicked to you, and he said, “I’ll tell you what’s on my mind when you tell me what’s on yours.”

That sentence hung in the air, and you froze, staring dumbly at him. You swallowed, and he seemed to realize what he had done.

“Ah -- that, that was horrible of me to say. I apologize. I should be respecting your privacy, not childishly guilting you into explaining yourself. I’m very, very, very sorry -- “

“No,” you held up a hand, shaking your head. “No, it’s fair. I -- I, uh. I was pretty obvious there, about Spaghorde. Um.” Your fingers curled into your palm, and you let your hand drop to your side with a sigh.

Clearly worried, Gaster put his hands on your arms, leaning in. “It’s alright,” he said, voice gentle. “I won’t pry. I know there’s -- something that you very much don’t want to talk about, but it’s fine. I was wrong. I’ll… tell you what I was worrying about, alright?”

You felt your stomach curl in on itself, that sick feeling from before returning. You really shouldn’t be doing this. You really shouldn’t -- you were dangerous, he was dangerous, you --

\-- Looked up at that worried face and felt yourself breaking inside. “...I’d like to know what you’re thinking about,” you said, arranging the dishware in front of yourself. “Especially if I can help at all.”

He sighed gently, and you realized that his hands were still on your arms. He seemed to realize it too, because he pulled back with a slight cough. “Well, ah, yes, we can talk about it. We should probably take care of the tea things first, though. It’ll give me some time to think about how to word it, anyway. If that’s alright?”

“Of course that’s fine.” You smiled at him - an honest one. He did seem to have a way of bringing those out, didn’t he?

 

* * *

 

 

You seemed to have stolen his habit, considering you were sitting next to him on your counter, instead of just grabbing some chairs from another room like a normal person. You didn’t mind, though, and, besides, you weren’t really a normal person, were you?

He ran a finger across his mouth, the squint of his eyes deeply pensive as you waited for him to begin. You figured the problem had something to do with his brothers - it’d been when they were mentioned, Sans, in particular, that he’d become so glum.

Your suspicions were quickly confirmed. “I wish I could simply go back without reservations. My dearest wish is to simply… embrace them, to apologize for leaving them for so long, and say how much I missed them, because oh - oh, I missed them so. But. I… how on earth could they ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” You repeated, lost at this point.

“I was supposed to be there for them. When our parents… passed away, I promised them, I wouldn’t leave. I would always be there. I would always, always, be someone they could rely on. I took care of them. I encouraged them. I tried to give them all the love I could, so they wouldn’t… feel the hole in their lives, the hole where…” He trailed off. You knew what he meant.

“But I left them. I left them, so -- so completely, that they… they lost all the traces of my existence. I didn’t even leave a hole that could be filled, one day, I just left -- horrible, empty, useless space in their hearts. Directionless loss and sorrow. I… I find myself wondering, how can I possibly return to them? So casually come back into their lives, like I’d never left? How can I make up for all the time that’s gone? How can… I understand their happiness, their sorrow? They’ve grown up without me. I’m not sure there’s a place for me, anymore.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. He didn’t look at you as he distantly stared off across the shop, and it was sort of strange how he spoke, calmly and quietly, like he was entirely disconnected from the situation. From his own feelings. “Gaster… You -- didn’t leave them, not on purpose. How could they blame you for an accident? It’s true, you’ve been gone a long time, and that’ll be… hard, to get used to all of the things that are different, but… don’t be afraid of being alive.”

He went very still, and took a deep, deep breath. “It wasn’t an accident.”

You paused.

You looked at his face, and his dazed expression, and you remembered -- hadn’t he sounded so insincere when he said he fell, so long ago?

His mouth moved, slowly, enunciating each little sound. “I jumped. I threw myself into the Core. I ki---...ki...kiuh….kil…….”

And there it was, all of that missing emotion and passion -- there it was, dribbling down his face in big, fat drops from his sockets as his shoulders began to tremble. There it was, and you threw your arms around him, pulling his head to your shoulder. “Oh -- oh, oh Gaster.” You did your best to soothe him, to comfort him, to let him know you were there for him as he bawled against you. The emotion seemed to render him incapable of maintaining his solid form, and he started turning to goop around you, covering your legs as he gripped the back of your shirt tightly. You didn’t mind. You ran your hand over the vague approximation of his back, and tried to piece together what he was saying as he spoke.

“K-kkilled myself,” he choked out. “Oh, oh, I’m suh… so, so suh… sorry… sorry… I thought I’d… That I wouldn’t… I thought I’d… I spent so long in there. Thought I’d. Dealt with it. What I did, how I felt, I -- thought I could, seem, normal, I -- oh, I’m sorry…”

“Gaster, don’t apologize,” you shushed, holding him as tightly as you could manage. “Don’t ever apologize for crying. Oh, oh darling, I’m so, so sorry. Let it all out. It’s okay.”

Now that the dam was broken, he didn’t seem intent on stopping anytime soon. “It feels so stupid, nuh, now, why I did it. I felt, so awful, so, so guilty for what I did, for -- for those humans, for my, for my staff, who -- who died, because I was so stupid, such a stupid, stupid man, I -- I wanted to… to help, help the monsters. I wanted to break the barrier, but I… Oh, I lead to so much suffering, I didn’t even know, then, what I’d really done, who it really ended up affecting, I…”

He didn’t sniffle at all, you noticed, probably because of a lack of mucus or anything. Immediately, you felt terrible for thinking about something so stupid in a time like this. All you could do was keep murmuring, “It’s alright, it’s alright…”

“I don’t, don’t even, quite remember how I got there. It’d just, that, that darkness, it’d taken another one. Another, another one of my staff. I knew it was my fault, and, and I didn’t, oh, I had no idea how to stop it, and I had to, tuh, figure out, how to tell the family -- and I couldn’t -- oh, I realized, just, suddenly then, just, how, how awful I was, how many people I’d ruined, and I couldn’t… there was the Core, and I thought, I, I deserved to be burned alive for what I’d done. I didn’t. I didn’t mean for him to see me…! I didn’t just, I didn’t just leave him, I made him watch…!”

Something cold filled the pit of your stomach. “Sans,” you said softly. “Sans saw you jump.”

Gaster couldn’t even reply, he was crying too hard, but you knew that was the truth.

He’d told you his younger brother wanted to follow in his footsteps. He told you that he tried so, so very hard in school to get the chance to work with his genius older brother.

And then.

Suddenly, you realized, Gaster wasn’t just amazed by every little thing he’d experienced because it was his first time on the surface. He’d been given another chance at being alive.

(How fitting that it was you who did that, considering -- )

You took a deep breath, stopping that thought in its tracks and running your fingertips along the back of his head. He didn’t say anything more - just cried, and cried, and eventually started hiccuping, and you were so, so glad no one had come in, wow, you didn’t expect the conversation to be quite this heavy.

He probably hadn’t, either. Poor thing. How long had he been keeping all these feelings buried?

After some time - after his breaths had evened out a bit, he said, softly, mouth pressed against your shoulder, “I… I have a question for you.”

“Mmm?” You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing against his head.

“...In -- in your view of the world, what would you call… something darker than the deepest darkness imaginable? A shadow so wholly complete that it’d -- eat a man alive… without a trace?”

“That sounds like the Beast,” you said without hesitation.

He let out a hoarse laugh. “There’s that word again. You still haven’t told me what it is.”

“No,” you said carefully, then closed your eyes. “No. But I’ll tell you, if you want.”

He breathed out. “...I was so foolish. I thought -- I thought I’d found something fascinating, some new… anomaly, some phenomenon I could use to break the barrier. But then it began killing all my staff, and I couldn’t stop it. So, I took -- I took the route of cowardice. I couldn’t imagine myself able to face… anyone, after what had happened. So I -- ...I… How could I leave them like I did? I was so selfish, I realized that, watching them struggle alone, how selfish I’d been for leaving -- “

“Shh,” you interrupted, brushing a thumb across the back of his head. “Shhh, shh. Don’t think that. Gaster -- I don’t know what to say, other than that you deserve to live. You deserve to be happy. And your brothers deserve the chance to choose whether or not you return to their lives. So please, please don’t be afraid, and cry all you need to. I won’t judge you. I -- I’ll fight anyone who would. And, uh. I’m pretty darn strong.”

He laughed very softly at your terrible, weak joke. “You’re -- you’re amazing. You’re absolutely, undefinably incredible. You… you’re… I’m alive now, because of you. I spent all that time regretting it, and you -- you let me live. Thank you, thank you, I can’t… I can’t possibly thank you enough. All of the thanks in the world couldn’t possibly…”

You kissed the top of his head very, very softly. “I couldn’t possibly have done anything else. You needed saving.”

He let himself lean against you for a long, long while, but you didn’t mind. There was time.

And… you thought, having seen that pure, sincere sorrow in his heart, that all of that stuff you were worrying about with him probably didn’t mean anything at all. The Primus was wrong.

You had nothing to fear from Doctor W. D. Gaster. Not now, not ever.


	9. You've Dialed Up the Beast.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Gaster have quite a lot in common.

“I’d like to know,” he said after a long while, looking up at you in the soft, dusty light of your store. “About the Beast, and what… happened, to make you so scared.”

That simple request had lead you here, to this place of grey brick and ancient stone, where the trees pushed all the way up to the gradually thinning buildings as nature claimed its due. By ancient rite, this place was once yours - the _collective_ you, mind, your people, and you could feel it in the very air. Empty nostalgia, a feeling of loneliness, a history of sorrow that tainted everything it touched -- and yet, paradoxically, the innocent majesty of hope and unconquerable determination.

The hill of your memories was a place to ruminate on the condition plaguing humanity and its magic, and it was for that purpose you brought him here. Somehow, he seemed innately sensitive to the solemn atmosphere  -- or, perhaps, he could discern it from your expression, your posture, and how you’d insisted on buying a bouquet of lilies before making the journey. You’d picked them up at the same time as the almond cakes; you were close to the Forest Witch’s territory, after all, might as well not waste the journey.

You could hear your footsteps echoing around the narrow, winding road as the heat prickled uneasily on your skin. As you walked farther and farther, the mighty walls of the castle came into view, high above you on the cliff formed thousands upon thousands of years ago from volcanic rock. You saw him look up, awestruck when he glimpsed the rounded towers and moss-riddled stone of Castle Spaghorde standing against the summer afternoon.

He didn’t say anything, shifting his gaze to you as you stopped on the sidewalk. You wondered if he remembered what you’d told him about this place.

Probably.

The bouquet crinkled underneath your fingers, and you kept going, ducking your head a bit lower. You didn’t think anyone would recognize you around these parts, but… You didn’t particularly want to take chances.

“The architecture here is very different,” he commented after a while, looking around at the austere, strict lines and the precise, pointed arches of the buildings around you. “From the rest of the city, I mean.”  
  
You nodded. “You could call this the old part of town. It kept its character, even as the world advanced around it. For hundreds of years, mages didn’t just thoroughly oversee this territory, they _owned_ it, which, well. We’ve got weird tastes. It gets a lot of tourism these days, I’ve heard; something about historical relevance.”

To be honest, the thought kind of made you feel weird, considering.

You were getting closer to the gate, now, a huge, studded metal door terminating at the edge of the widening stone path. The once neatly trimmed hedges and bushes had gone to ruin, twisting and gnarling into something thick and wild. Beyond, you could see the beginnings of the forest, cropping up at the edges of your vision. Reaching into your bag, you withdrew something - a huge key, heavy and iron, that you always bore with you, no matter what. You weren’t even sure why, really -- repentance? Remembrance? Perhaps fear, that someday, even this might be taken from you?

Or… perhaps, the fear that, should you not have it nearby at all times, you’d forget what you’d done?

Set into the gate was a smaller door, much more reasonably sized for the pair of you, and it was a nearby lock that you slipped the key into, turning it with a resounding _clunk._ You pushed it open, beckoning Gaster into the courtyard beyond.

“Welcome to Castle Spaghorde,” you said as he leaned in, his mouth agape at the grandness of what he saw. You understood why he was impressed, although all you could see now was an abandoned shadow of the sleeping past. “My childhood home.”

Once, feasts and festivals had filled the courtyard. You remembered lights, tents, and music, you remembered colors and laughter, you remembered being a child and running barefoot through the grass, waving streamers and sparklers that arced through the air. Now, though, now…

There was only empty grass and tangled weeds.

“It’s very beautiful,” he said as you gingerly walked forward, leading him around the stone perimeter that lined the square. The towers, the parapets, the moss and vines that crawled across every inch of the stone, the bright yellow flowers curled through the grass… you could see why he thought that, you supposed.

“It used to be better. Grand, welcoming, filled with hopes and dreams. A place blessed by the sun itself.” You stepped through an archway, leading him across a shadowed walkway lined with columns. Here, you started to move more carefully, as the damage to the castle steadily became more apparent as you progressed. The shattered shards of destroyed columns, the rubble from mighty holes in the walls, the storehouse that had completely collapsed in on itself... they were all the remains of a tragic battle, and a scar that had only dulled slightly through the years.

The entrance to the catacombs lay in a stone mausoleum that faced the rising sun, with a broad, flat face that caught the light streaming over the castle walls. Even now, the afternoon light seemed to make the very stone itself sparkle - yet, that was not your destination. Instead, you veered to the left, to a circular platform flanked by elaborately sculpted graves. Gaster looked down at the emblem carved into the center of the round stone: a sun flanked by three stars.

Once, you'd worn that insignia on your chest.

After a pause, you knelt in the middle of the arranged graves, holding the lilies to your chest. You could feel the summer heat intensely on your back - or was that your own shame?

Quietly, you heard something shift behind you, and you glanced back, noticing that Gaster had knelt as well.

“You don’t… have to do that,”

“I’d like to, though,” he replied, his voice sounding small in the huge, silent castle. “I may not know what this is, but I do know you are showing me something very, very important to you.”

You looked back down at the white stone. Somehow, it still felt cool on your knees. “There’s… someone I brought you here to meet,” you quietly explained after a few moments of this. You stood again, trying best not to scuff the prayer circle beneath you, and wandered to the grave you’d spent the most time in front of, over the years.

“This is Elfriede Bauer,” you explained, bending down to offer the lilies to the earth. “Phoenix of the Holy Flame and the Inquisitor of Spaghorde. I called her Fee. She was my teacher, and, in many ways… my mother.”

Gaster came up beside you, his arm almost brushing yours. “This is… a graveyard, then?”

You managed a sharp little laugh. “Yeah. Ahh, plums, I guess you wouldn’t recognize headstones, would you? Monsters don’t bury their dead.”

“No.” There was a brief pause, and he looked down to address the grave. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Bauer. You raised a wonderful child.”

Torn between amusement and shame, you laughed awkwardly, half-covering your face. “You don’t actually have to… I was being facetious.”

He shrugged lightly. “I believe it was you who argued to me about the importance of gestures, even if they have no inherent meaning?”

“Guess I did.” You stood there, watching the bright petals shift slightly in the blessed breeze before saying,“I’m not really… sure where to begin.” Somehow, your mouth had gone dry, despite the awful sweat that had overtaken you. “This whole time, I’ve been thinking about how best to tell the story of this place - and my part in it - but…”

“Wherever you’d like,” he said gently, reaching over and resting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not going to critique your technique. And, if it’s too much for you, you don’t have to continue.”

Lightly, you shook your head. The mere act of him putting his arm around you sent you into a brief fit of embarrassment, although you weren’t really sure why. You did that kind of junk to people all the time - although, maybe, it was because this time, you actually wanted to lean against him a bit. “It’s my life,” you said, “And my choices. I should be able to face them.”

“...As you will,” he replied, skepticism apparent in his voice. “Still, I can wait.”

You pursed your lips again, clasping your hands together and working a little circle into your skin. “I guess… I’ll start with Fee. Lady Bauer; for, in the end, I damned myself for the mere chance of seeing her again.”

The way you phrased that caused Gaster to frown intently, but he didn’t interrupt you. Instead, you looked up to the sky, musing as you observed the clouds, “I don’t really quite remember how it happened -- which is embarrassing, really, I feel like I should know _exactly_ how my parents died. I think a drunk driver hit us? I don’t know; I was six. All I remember is pain, really, and crunching metal as they ripped open the car to get to us. Dad died on impact, I think, and mom in the ICU. If the Phoenix of the Holy Flame wasn’t there, that day, I’d be dead, too.”

Gaster’s hand tightened on your shoulder, and he pulled you in closer. “I -- I’m so, so sorry, that’s awful,” he murmured, clearly aghast, and you shook your head slightly, a hand raised to stop him.

“I’m not -- hah, I’m not telling you that to, like, get your sympathy, or anything, Simply… to provide you context as to why I was so, so fanatically loyal to Spaghorde’s Holy Flame.” You took a breath, feeling foolish that the memory still hurt. “And to also state something important. She saved my life; changed my fate, if you will, and gave me the determination to keep living. But she didn’t bring me back to life. That is the one thing magic can never - and _should_ never do.”

You looked at him, gaze serious. “When I repaired your soul and freed you, I didn’t bring you back to life. There was still something of your soul, there, to work with. Souls can become fragmented, broken, trapped… but when they _disappear_ in death, that is irreversible, as it becomes something completely out of the bounds of magic. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Okay. With that said…” You linked your hands together tightly. “On that cold, rainy day -- somehow shining, even then -- ...she stopped my soul from slipping away, and she gave me another chance at living. She came to visit me in the hospital, after everything, and gave me a choice. When she’d saved me, she recognized something in me - something we call _talent,_ a particularly strong soul that’s capable of making dreams a reality. She said she could train me, make me her apprentice, and she’d ensure that I was well cared for.”

“I was scared, and here was this amazing woman who was there to comfort me in the most terrifying moment of my life, so, of course I said yes.” You shifted your head, indicating your surroundings with a slight movement. “And she brought me here, to Spaghorde, and taught me how to be an Inquisitor. She tutored me in swordplay, martial arts, history, literature, mythology, and, of course, the ways of magic. From youth, I was prepared for a grand, honorable duty - to be the King’s right hand and most trusted confidant. That is what an Inquisitor is.” You closed your eyes. “I was… to be a knight. A guardian of this castle and its people.”  
  
Gaster looked at you, and looked around the castle, and he quickly started to see where this was going. His hand tightened a little on you as you continued, “While much of my training was physical in nature, you’ve probably noticed that I’m, uh.” You paused. “I mean, all of those stupid conversations we’ve had about how magic works. Myth, meaning, belief the coexistence of completely different understandings of the world, _I run a bookstore,_ for Pete’s sake, whoever the heck Pete is.” You finally admitted it, then, in a slightly defeated tone. “ _I’m a huge nerd.”_

He thought for a moment. “You know, I’d thought that was simply how wizards were… but thinking back on it, it wasn’t really necessary to discuss the topics we did in such… length, was it?” He sounded faintly amused, raising his brow. “And, I’ve heard you discuss books with your clientele. In matters outside of science, you’re incredibly knowledgeable. I can hardly judge, though, my crowning achievements are all frightfully obtuse.”  
  
You sighed, accepting that you were just a pair of disgusting academics, although your specialities lay in directly opposing fields. “...Well, you mentioned going to university. Castle Spaghorde was -- consider it a university for wizardry. Magic was studied, books were collected, experiments were run, theories were discussed, arguments were had, students were taught… and our culture and traditions were celebrated. Castle Spaghorde was a bastion of belief. And… when I was… fourteen, or so, a young teenager, I started aiding one of the researchers - the Cerebrum, although in those days, she had a different name. Book of the Ages; she was a historian, and we called her Book.”

“Primarily… I helped her comb old texts and collect stories about mythological artifacts and powerful items. But, um, as time went on, I expressed interest in some of her more… unorthodox theories. Particularly, uh.” You winced. This was where things got bad. “Particularly, um. Life after death. Where souls go when they die. She believed that -- uhh, she believed that… I’ve told you how reality is like, tiered, right? The Truth of Dreaming. She had a theory that we were… misunderstanding how magic influences reality, and that the Grand Order isn’t actually the ‘core’ truth that we build off of.”

You waved your hand lightly as you spoke, gesturing to a vague… moreness. “It’s more like a… she described it as being like a kind of dumb, arrogant manager that kept things running - albeit ineffectively - and, in the end, it answered to a much greater power. The reason why magic needs so much belief to exist is because… we’ve got this barrier - the manager - between us and the boss, keeping us from accessing our true power and potential. In essence, her argument was that belief allowed us to not be completely subjugated by management - the Grand Order - but… if we didn’t have to deal with that, we could directly interact with the true power behind the universe.”

“...And, what was that?” He asked, peering at you. How different this was from when you first met, and he’d express exasperation at every turn.

“...The place where souls go in death. The afterlife. She claimed that the universe is powered by _souls,_ and that magic brought us closer to the world of the dead - that dreams allowed us to bridge the gap between the waking world and the world of souls. That, should we reach that place, the barrier that is the Grand Order would be meaningless, and we would become like gods.”

“That’s -- “ A mixture of emotions shone on Gaster’s face, flitting from intense concern to severe puzzlement.

“Insane and scary? Yeah, I realize that now, but... I was a kid, and, to be frank, the rigorous pomp and ceremony was a little… dull to me, then. The Cerebrum’s modern views and interest in discussing theoretical magic - particularly since many of the professors thought me too young to take seriously - endeared her to me. And, at the same time, Fee was becoming very busy with other business, tasks that she wouldn’t let me aid her with. It was only later that I learned that she was trying to shelter me from the horrors of the Inquisition for just awhile longer - but, at the time, my pride was hurt.”

“The horrors of the Inquisition?” Gaster asked tentatively, as if he was just realizing how frightening a word _inquisitor_ really was.

“...So. Most simply, I guess, the Beast is the price we pay for magic. Call it… the spirit of violence, the drive to speak power, megalomania -- it is the power and drive to achieve one’s ambitions through _any means necessary._ Whether it’s through the capacity of cruelness, or the madness of a broken heart… The Beast infects the spirits, and turns mages into terrifying demons with obscene strength.”

“LOVE,”  Gaster murmured, staring at you in shock. You stared back, eyebrows going way up.

“‘Scuse me?”

“Level of Violence, it -- no, no. Continue with your story, please, or we’re going to get very, very off-topic.”

Peering at him, you ‘hmn’d’ softly. “Okay, I’ll add it to the list of things I wanted to come back to. Anyway. The Beast is a… a real complicated thing to explain, because… on the one hand, it’s something in the soul. It’s hate, it’s envy, it’s despair. On the other hand, it’s a real, physical _presence_ that can be felt and interacted with. We -- saw it, in the Void. It’s something that can be summoned, and it’s offers great, great power. Tempting power, and all it takes is a moment of weakness to be infected by it. On the third, metaphorical hand… it’s a curse, passed down to us through the ages by Queen Ranunculae, who was the first to thirst for blood.”

“Blood,” Gaster repeated. You were becoming very fond of that incredulous tone.

“Yeah.” Absently, you leaned your head against him, letting your gaze drop to the ground. “And monster dust. It started there, actually, with dust. Queen Ranunculae was… the most powerful thaumaturge in -- in forever, maybe, her power was equivalent to that of a god, or so the stories go. The Queen of the Buttercups, who it is said will live forever.”

“ _Will_ live?”

“She never died. She’s still alive, to this day, but sleeping. _Blessedly._ That’s one of the Primus’ responsibilities, you know, keeping her trapped and dreaming. But let’s back up a few steps. Queen Ranunculae lived long, long ago, so long, in fact, that the monsters were still on the surface. How well do you know your history, Gaster? ...Hah, I wonder if our Queen ever made it into your history books?”

“The name isn’t familiar to me, but I’ll admit, I can’t be universally skilled. History is one of my weak points.”

“How much do you know about what started the war, then?”

He paused, musing over this. “Land disputes, cultural clashes, ahh… prominently, though, I remember there was a passionate dispute about souls. Monsters, being fully composed of a soul, treat the subject as humans treated biology, but humans, having a more, shall-we-say…”

“Religious, spiritual view?” You commented, and he considered this and nodded.

“Yes. Their more… religious treatment of the soul made studying it a taboo subject.” A pause. “Er. Wait. Am -- have I accidentally offended you in any way?”

“Pft, naw. It’s cool. I’m not -- well. You’ll come to understand that I’m not… uh… for better or worse -- and by that, I just mean worse -- I’m not a traditionalist. Just don’t - " You were about to say ‘experiment on human souls’ and you realized how fucked that’d be, considering what you learned earlier that day, so you just shut up and changed the conversational direction. “Well, don’t engage someone like the Primus in a conversation like that, and you’re golden.”

“Ah.” A pause. “So, is that why the Primus -- oh, goodness. I’m getting you off-topic _again._ I’m sorry. We were talking about the war?”

“Yes. So, the disagreement about souls -- and the subsequent vilifying of the monsters regarding their studies -- was one of the big points of contention in the war. However, there was, uh, another real big thing that happened. Sort of like an Austro-Hungarian assassination type of deal.”

“...Umn?”

“Er -- “ you coughed. “Sorry! Dumb joke, no way you’d get it. Uh, there was one _really_ huge event that basically lit the powder-keg of war, and that was the assassination of Queen Ranunculae’s consort. She was… very, very much in love with a monster, you see, and had been for quite a long time. In fact, it’s claimed they had a child together, but that’s, uh…”

Gaster stared at you.

“...Probably just legend,” you finished. “I mean, it’s -- like, there’s. I don’t know how that would work. I don’t even want to think about how it’d work. Magic? Lots of magic? I don’t??? Know???” Shrugging helplessly, you returned to your story. “Anyway, he got offed. Humans claimed it was the monsters -- “

“ -- Why would the monsters have killed one of their own people?” Gaster interjected.

“Uhhhhhh. That’s. _Long_ story, full of hypotheticals, mind if I tell it later?”

“Er. Well. Yes. Alright. Sorry! I keep doing this.”

You managed a laugh despite the sorts of things you were talking about. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter who-killed-who. Humans claimed it was the monsters, monsters claimed it wasn’t them, and our Queen went absolutely nuts with grief and… ate the dust.”

“That’s. Um.”

“Yeah. And, it, uh. Didn’t stop there. Something about… consuming the remains of a soul, combined with the devastation from losing the person she’d loved for years and years… drove her mad. She, um. She thirsted for both the blood of humans and monsters -- their lifeforce, you know? Blood, dust, it’s _power._ Both are incredibly powerful symbols of life, mortality, and domination. And… that’s when the Beast was born, really. Our Queen -- with power akin to a god -- cursed the entire discipline of thaumaturgy. With dreams came despair, with hope, madness, and… um… blood began to taste _real_ sweet, to us. It feels.. _good_ to have power, you know? It’s easy to get drunk on blood.”

Looking highly disturbed, Gaster nodded slightly, but you noticed… He didn’t pull away in revulsion.

Well! Give it time.

“So. Uh. Something can happen to a mage. They can, er. We call it going into a frenzy. Sometimes, um, it’s a spell gone wrong. There’s a lot of emotion that goes into magic, you know? And that can _backfire,_ and it feels like the _worst thing in the world._ Sometimes, it’s a sudden, cataclysmic tragedy, sometimes it’s… a long build-up of things. Personal loss, existential despair - gradually, bit by bit, a mage can fall into a depression, until one tiny thing pushes them over the limit. Sometimes… a mage gives in to blood and becomes addicted. Sometimes -- it’s… an actual, physical encounter with the Beast. There are many, many reasons people fall off the path of righteousness, and when that happens… we become incredibly dangerous.”

You took a deep breath. “We turn into… creatures of nightmare, capable of wielding absurd amounts of magic and power. Reality alters around us, we become twisted representations of ourselves. The duty of an Inquisitor, as the trusted right hand of the domain’s leader is… to keep people from falling to the Beast. If they do, they’re supposed to -- take care of the problem with the fewest amount of casualties. Sometimes, it’s possible to save wizards in that state from themselves, but sometimes -- sometimes… What must be brought is an honorable death.”

Gaster opened his mouth. Shut it. You filled in the blanks. “In the worst case scenario, a frenzied mage has to be put down before they can hurt anybody, and that’s the duty of the Inquisitor. That’s why we have to train so hard and become so strong. And that’s… the sort of duty the Inquisitor of Spaghorde was trying to prevent me from having to confront. Now, I am… so thankful that she wanted to let me grow up a bit more before making me deal with problems like that, but…”

“...At the time. I was so stupid.”

You went quiet, thinking, and in a soft movement, Gaster turned, tugging you towards him in an embrace. Freezing a bit in shock, you couldn’t quite swallow the violent bubble of self-hatred that filled you. “You would -- you wouldn’t be doing this if you knew what I did. What I really did.”

Gently, he said, “Well, we’ll see about that. But I think I’m starting to put together the pieces.”

“Are -- are you?” You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, already preparing for when he’d abandon you under the ferociously blue summer sky. “I was supposed to be their _guardian,_ Gaster. I was trained to protect them against anything terrible that could corrupt them. And then -- and then -- what did I do? When my teacher died not much later, of, of illness? I couldn’t accept it. I abandoned _everything_ she taught me - I couldn’t bear that Fee was dead, so when Book - the _Cerebrum_ \- said, ‘I’ll help you find her soul; we can bring her back to life _together_ ’, I followed her so stupidly, so unquestioningly! I let her do whatever she wanted to me! I let her -- I let her experiment on my eyes, I went along with the rituals, I - I _drank blood!”_

You were getting a bit worked up, now, but you couldn’t help it. It all just came out in an unceasing torrent. “We did terrible, terrible things in secret! We beckoned the Beast, we wove spells out of blood, I -- it wasn’t just me. Quietly, she’d been turning so many of Spaghorde’s youth over to her side, luring them from their teachers with promises of power and respect. She preyed on their dissatisfaction with the older generation to form a cult -- The Moss Side Cult that committed so many atrocities… and I! I, the inheritor to Spaghorde’s inquisition -- I participated! For… such a stupid, petty reason.”

“Bringing back the dead!” Your voice rang out through the graveyard, echoing against empty stone. “I betrayed everyone! My teacher, my -- my King! I was supposed to be an Inquisitor, and I gave up my duty! That’s -- that’s why my name is Two-Bit! I’m the Half-Rate Magician, because I abandoned my duty for the worship of blood! I - " You choked a bit. You were _not_ going to cry! “And when -- and when -- the, the, when that day came, when… everything went wrong… when the Cerebrum tried to use us to reach the afterlife, but instead brought about something far, far worse…”

“I could do nothing to stop it. I couldn’t.. save my King. I couldn’t save my friends. I couldn’t save anyone from the resulting bloodbath. Down there in that basement, so many lost their minds and went into a frenzy. Corruption overflowed from those fetid halls, and I…”

“...Gave up my right to bear anything with pride.”

You felt his fingers run through your hair. Still, even now, he hadn’t let you go. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, voice weak and hoarse from yelling.

“Because… To me, it does not matter what mistakes happened in the past. Right now, _you are amazing,_ ” he said in a voice warm enough to make you flush. 

“You… You…!” You were halfway between flattered and annoyed. How could he say something like that so -- so confidently? “You… you’re… you don’t seem very surprised. Do you even understand what I’ve done?”

“I… obviously do not have the full cultural context, but yes, I understand. However - _you were young,_ and, not only that, you -- and many others -- were specifically manipulated by this… Cerebrum woman. I’m…” He paused slightly, shifting his grip on you slightly. “Somewhat angry, I must admit; is this why you're called  _Two-Bit?_ I’ve been wondering about the explanation for quite some time, and, still -- _you were a child._ _You were a victim,_ how… could they have expected what they did of you? To me, it sounds like the failure of the adults in that situation, for not noticing _anything._ Were you immediately expected to bear all the duties of an Inquisitor after your teacher died?”

“Nn… not immediately, it was -- Grizzly, Inquisitor Legbiter’s teacher who came in to help out, but -- ...but, it’s not his fault for not being able to stop it. I don’t really think he had the full context to understand the problem. _I_ should have reported it to him. _It was my job!”_

“...And -- for that reason you’re demeaned, even to this day, for the mistakes of years prior? Because you -- _a child_ \-- were manipulated and lead astray?”

“I mean -- culpability and the past are both real important to us, you know? Ranunculae’s descent into madness was countless generations ago, but we still bear the ramifications to this day. This place will… never be the same. I -- by not speaking up, by participating, _so many_ died, including…” You gave up at this point, totally going slack. He could easily drop you like the pile of trash you were, if he wanted. “...Beatrice. When everything went wrong, Grizzly called her in to help. I don’t know how Many-Names doesn’t hate me.”

Gently, he said, “Perhaps because they realize it's not _just_ your fault, although your own responsibility is something I’d still argue. Regardless, I’m still -- going as far as to call you _worthless?_ To make your _name_ something like that?” You could hear him struggling with his anger, trying to moderate it and make it nice and neat for you. Huh. Thinking back on it, it’d been a long time since he’d ever called you that, hadn’t it? How long had he suspected?

“It’s not… Gaster, I’m _dangerous._ Once you -- I said blood got addictive, right? I -- I have cravings. I could totally just _snap_ one day and someone will have to come kill me. _That’s_ why I’m called Two-Bit -- I have to _remember what I’ve done_ . I have to remember that, as an Inquisitor, I am a failure. Because if I let myself forget… I could easily become a blood drunk demon. I could easily kill a _lot_ of people. I have Inquisitor training; if the Beast took me…”

You didn’t really want to finish the thought. Yet, despite what you’d said - he still held you. In fact, he held you tighter, burying his face in your hair. “You’ve clearly been resisting it. Just because you need help doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of helping.”

“Names are important. The word something is called can influence how much power it has over something. By calling me Two-Bit -- by being looked down upon -- my power is reduced. The less respect I hold, the less confident I am… the less _dangerous_ I am. It’s important. That’s -- _really_ important.”

“I still don’t think it’s right,” he said firmly. “I can’t accept that it’s necessary. You must never become complacent and think that something  _wrong_ is the only way.”

“You don’t get it.” You could hear your ears ringing, and you finally, finally returned the embrace, bringing your hands up to his back and clutching at him. Again, you repeated, “You don’t _get_ it.”

“No? What don’t I get? Ahh, that you’re evil incarnate, you mean, and you don’t even have a chance at a normal life?” He was giving you _sass._

“It’s not -- you’re mean. This is a serious problem that I always have to be conscience of!”

“Mmm. And how, exactly, does that translate to you being duty-bound to hate yourself?”

“I… I don’t…”

“I know how you feel,” he said softly. “I understand your guilt. How could I not? I… know what it feels like, to be responsible for something _horrible_ through both your action and you inaction. However, I don’t think you’re worthless. You’re my -- my dear friend, who I owe so very much to. I believe in you. I believe that you are strong, and dutiful, and that, if your teacher could see you now - she would be very, very proud at who you’ve grown up to be.”

You were silent, so once more, he murmured, “Perhaps you think little of the taste of a worthless man like me, but I believe wholeheartedly in your greatness.”

“You -- you’re not worthless!” You said a bit too loudly. “You’re not worthless at all!”

“Oh? But I’ve done terrible things. I’ve abandoned my own duties. I’ve let people down. I’ve gotten people killed. Terrible experiments were run because I thought, _the end justifies the means._ Doesn’t that make me worthless?”

“No! You! I see what you’re doing!” You pulled back a little, smacking him lightly on the shoulder and glaring at him. He looked so amused and triumphant. “You’re not allowed to do that!!”

“Do what?” He asked innocently, _the cad._

“Do!! That!! Use your trauma to win against me!!! That’s cheating!!!!” You scowled vehemently, and he chuckled.

“I am simply reversing the situation so you can more easily understand what I’m trying to say. What’s wrong with that?”

Misery plagued your voice. “Everything! Everything is wrong with that!”

“Goodness.” He still held you, and you still hadn’t really let go of him, either. “Well, I won’t make a fuss about it. Thank you… for sharing all of this with me. I know what I’ve been told is deeply personal.”

You deflated a bit, working at your lip a little. “Um. Well. No problem. It’s stuff you should know, just in case I - "

Anticipating what you were going to say, he withdrew a hand from you and, instead, put a finger over your mouth. “You’re not,” he interrupted.

“You don’t know th-”

“ _You’re not,_ ” he repeated more firmly. “...If you believe something, can’t you make it true?”

You saw where he was going with this. “You -- magic isn’t perfect, Gaster, you can still _fail._ ”

“Mmn. I think it’s worth the effort. Besides, I don’t think tearing yourself down will help you resist something like that.” Very lightly, he tapped your nose. “If you lose hope, then… how could you resist the embodiment of despair?”

Grumbling a bit, you looked down, not liking that he was taking junk you’d said and _turning it against you._ You had to dislike yourself! It was! You just had to!

You weren’t really sure what to say, and Gaster seemed to be content to just hold you, there, in the tomb of your failures. Eventually, you managed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you reassure me. You’ve -- had a hard day.”

“To be frank, I feel better after doing this. A little less useless, perhaps.”

“What, because you look better when compared to me?”

“No,” he replied sharply, mouth turning down in a frown. “No, because, despite all my failures, I can still be the person to tell you that you’re worth something.”

This was, like, the fifth time he’d taken you off guard today. “I - “ you struggled, then looked down, deflated. “...You’re real nice, Gaster. Really -- really nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Something strange welled up within you, and you were about to open your mouth and say more when you noticed something out of the corner of your eye.  That ringing sound had increased a bit in intensity -- you’d thought it was just due to stress, or something, but…

Peering at the skyline above the walls, you felt like you could see a… haze? Turning quickly, you stared right at it, but -- no, it was just relentlessly blue sky, slowly fading into early evening. Still, you felt strange, and you reached up, rubbing at your eyes.

“Is -- something wrong?” Gaster asked, clearly concerned, and you shook your head.

“I -- I dunno. I just feel… Uh, I hate to cut short an emotional bonding moment, and if you got more questions, you can ask them, but… I gotta check something out. That okay?”

“Of course,” he said as he released you, shoulders tensing in concern, and you felt kind of lonely when he did that. But -- only for a moment. Your attention turned elsewhere, you slowly began to walk.

Although you couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly, something felt _strange…_ and if it had to do with this castle, you were going to _find_ it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> *looks at 6k word count* sssso this got out of control. Seriously there was supposed to be EVEN MORE to the chapter but things were just getting silly. Anyway, think of mages like mahou shoujo from Madoka Magica lol they go crazy and turn into creepy collage monsters. (Maybe like... another Undertale character we know??? OHHHHH.)
> 
> Also, finally, I reveal the alternate title for this fic- “Gaster Decides It’s a Good Idea to Smooch a Vampire". (I mean, mages aren’t really vampires but they’re inspired by the same source material)


	10. Look, Stop Screaming into the Receiver, Already!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little violent.

Spoiler alert: you didn’t find it.

You tried hard. Real hard. You wandered through broken, dim halls, you scoured rooms stripped bare of their familiarity. You searched and searched, knowing something was _off_ , something was _up,_ but you couldn’t quite see it, or smell it, or hear it. Even more frustrating was the hot heaviness that consumed your body, winding around the unceasing _ringing._ You kept having to slow down and take breaks, leaning against doorways or pausing on flights of stairs, and you hated that more than anything else.

You’d intended to talk more with Gaster, really, you felt like you still had so much to _say,_ but the words kept slipping from you in your desperate attempt to focus. Suddenly, though, something gripped your arm and stopped you short. You turned to see what was the matter, and there, framed by the weak sunlight streaming through a dusty window, you saw worry starkly clear on your companion’s face. “Are you _alright?_ ”

“Huh? Uh, sure, what’s up?”

“I was calling you. You didn’t hear me?” He leaned in, which for some inexplicable reason made your head feel a bit fuzzier. “You haven’t been responding to anything I’ve been saying.”

That kind of disturbed you. “I -- jeez, I’m sorry. I guess I was kind of lost in my own world? I’m kind of an airhead, sometimes.”

He stared at you seriously, and in, in a firm voice that brokered no argument, said, “No. You’re not an “airhead”. You’re sick, and you’re trying to hide it from me.”

A pause, and you wet your lips. Wow, he went _in._ “...You’re right. Sorry, it’s a habit. I have to look cool at least seventy-five percent of the time, or I’ll lose my License to Swagger. Those are important benefits!”

Gaster let out a deep, hissing breath. “While, normally, I find your devil-may-care attitude to be highly charming, at the moment I would very much appreciate it if you took your own health seriously.”

“It’s not a big-- “ you halted, peering back down the hall. Quieting your voice, you murmured, “Gaster, do you hear _voices?_ ”

He just. Stared. “Please tell me you’re making an awful joke.”

“No, seriously, I’m not trying to be edgy here -- don’t you _hear that?_ ” Really, it was quite perceptible now, although you couldn’t make out the exact content of the conversation. It was a dialogue; if you just kind of… shifted your perspective, listened in a way you just hadn’t been before, you could make out distinct voices and hear the occasional word. Asriel? Was that a --

“How much did you sleep last night?” You snapped back to reality at the fear in his tone. “Are you - _you’re burning up!_ ”

You couldn't help but lean into the cool bone of his hand as he felt your forehead. The voices were gone, now, replaced by dull ringing once more… though it was fainter, now, muffled by stone and dust. “I, uh, I dunno. I feel kinda… dizzy…”

To your credit, you didn’t pass out, but you certainly felt like you were going to. “We’re getting you home,” Gaster said firmly, tracing his knuckles across your forehead. “And you’re getting some rest.”

“But something’s _wrong,_ ” you insisted. If it wasn’t -- you didn’t really want to think of the implications.

“Then we can tell someone about it, but, clearly, you’re getting ill being here. We’re leaving.” With that, he pulled his hand away, wrapping his fingers around yours and tugging on them insistently. “Don’t make me pick you up.”

Realizing that there was no fighting this, you complied, trudging along beside him. “Not sure you could, anyway, I’m kinda heavy.”

“I’m sure I’d find a way.”

“Mmn.” For a few moments, you simply walked, your hand still clasped in his. Don’t be weird, you reminded yourself, he’s just fretting over you. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird about it! “...Can we still go talk to the Forest Witch? Got business with her, after all, and I wanna know what she thinks about this.”i

There was a grunt of discontent. “I’d rather just get you straight home.”

“It won’t take a long time. I -- this place is… If anything is going on here, it’s real, real bad news, y’know? I’d rather it get caught early.”

“...Will you make it a priority to rest tomorrow if we go see her?”

“Swear to my knickers, I’ll stay in bed as long as you want.” For a moment, you wondered how you'd ended up actually listening to the opinion of someone fretting over you. “Heck, I’ll even stay closed if I’m still feeling bad.”

“Okay. Then let’s go. It’s not far?”

“It’s not far.”

You made the journey out of the castle hand in hand, the slight crinkling of the bag in Gaster’s other hand accompanying you. Mostly, you were silent, but once you stepped into the sunlight, Gaster had a soft question for you. “You’ve been sick for a while, haven’t you?”

Pausing, your expression became more difficult. Finally, he’d just said it outright. And, finally, you felt like you couldn’t just divert the topic away from it. “Yeah.”

“What are your symptoms, exactly?”

“I’m just… tired. Weirdly hot, too, though I thought that was just summer being summer. Headaches, stomach aches, I get dizzy and sometimes it’s hard to breathe -- oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m not dying.” You waved your hand dismissively, frowning at his sudden look of fear. “Probably just lingering effects of the whole, y’know, saving you from the void thing. And it’s _not_ your fault,” you stressed, anticipating his crushing guilt. “I’m going to be fine.”

“You were _hallucinating._ I was afraid you were going to pass out!”

“That - " you struggled for a moment. “That might be something different.”

“...What is it?”

You paused, locking the gate to Spaghorde behind you before you turned to face the saturated light of the street. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been back there. I could have just been having a weird reaction to the castle. It’s -- nightmares, the Beast, they can taint places, even if its influence isn’t immediately visible on the surface. That’s why no one goes there, anymore, it’s not suited for living.”

“That…” Gaster struggled, clearly not happy with that explanation. “Can you really become so physically ill just by being in a place like that? I didn’t feel it at all.”

“I mean, me hearing voices that you can’t is still weird as a…” You waved your hand vaguely, searching for an appropriate simile. “A pickle in a nutella jar. That’s why I said I think something’s up. The influence of the Beast _can totally_ make you hallucinate. So, somebody’s gotta check that out, just in case..”

Gaster squeezed your hand a bit, and you weren’t certain if it was intentional or not. “I’d still like to check your temperature when we get home.”

“Ptbbbb. Okay, Doc.” As you walked further from Spaghorde, you admittedly felt kind of… better? Like a pressure was being lifted from you, bit by bit. That sound had stopped, and your head felt clear once more. “Oh, uh, we need to go down that street. It breaks off to a hiking trail.”

He stopped, looking the way you were pointing. It was then that he noticed that, _whoops,_ he was still kind of holding your hand. After a brief pause to absorb this, he backed off with a stream of hurried apologies. “Sorry, ah, my apologies, I -- I didn’t mean to -- do you still need -- um.”

This got a laugh. “Naw, it’s cool. It’s… probably for the best you dragged me out of there. Thanks. It’s a stifling place, y’know?”

Gaster relaxed, somewhat. “I can imagine.”

You walked side by side, your head getting clearer with each step. Soon enough -- shockingly quickly, really -- you’d come to the forest and the trail that descended into the shadowed wood. To be honest, it was kind of nice to get out of the city. You didn’t live in the olden days, sure, but you certainly dreamed about them enough. Wizards were naturally pretty uncomfortable in urban environments.

The industrial revolution had kind of turned the world on its head, after all.

The conversation got lighter as you made the trek to the Forest Witch’s glade. Both of you had some pretty big things on your mind, but today had been too much of a rollercoaster to think about them. Well. Actually, that was an analogy you were incredibly unfit to make, considering you’d never set foot in an amusement park and only had a vague idea what they were like.

Regardless, you talked about simple things. It was as you were arguing about books - Gaster had some truly offensive opinions about the Brontë sisters - that you heard something strange.

Barking?

Not just a little barking, but a _chorus_ , a cacophony of paws and tails and canine amusement. You blinked, and after hesitating for a moment, you recognized one of Lady Dogwitch’s retrievers roughhousing with a German Shepherd not too far from you, and more were dashing and darting along the path. “Huh.”

You and Gaster exchanged looks before you kept walking. Rising above the clamor of the pack, you could hear two distinct voices, both of which you immediately recognized.

“Bribery! Flattery! Facile, insubstantial tricks, worth less than sodden paper!”

“It’s called a sandwich, my dear.”

“I am neither your _dear_ nor your _deer!_ And I will not be won by your _sandwiches!”_

“Are you certain? They’re really quite good; I made them myself.”

“Is tha-- who is Lady Dogwitch speaking with?” Gaster asked quietly, looking down at you in complete bafflement.

“That’s the -- “ A frustrated shriek burst out over the forest, shortly accompanied by the delighted titter of the Good Lady’s laughter. “...Witch of the Western Woods.”

“I -- I see.” Driven by curiosity, you both quickened your pace so you could get a good look at what was going on.

In the middle of the grassy clearing, you were confronted with a bizarre scene. There was Lady Dogwitch, still looking as prim and proper as when you’d seen her earlier - but now, she had the heel of someone’s foot planted directly into her cheek and was laughing all the while. “You’re being rather uncharitable, you know.”

“You can take your charity and _choke_ on it!”

A moment should be taken to clarify some things about the Witch of the Western Woods. You’d described her as unsociable, really, but that hardly did the woman justice. She was, quite frankly, a blazing star of irritable hatred shoved into the tiny, delicate body of a girl barely five feet tall. You didn’t quite know the story behind her ill-humor, neither that of the marked eccentricity with which she spoke, but you did know she hated most company with the insatiable passion of a five year old throwing a temper tantrum.

She and Lady Dogwitch made quite an unusual pair. The Forest Witch preferred her clothing ragged and eclectic, composed of many earthen tone layers that made her look like a forest hoodlum. You could see her rain boots propped up against a tree; they were quite easy to spot, after all, being bright, neon green adorned with little frog eyes. You were given to understand that her feet were so small that she could only wear children’s shoes.

At the moment, her mask was off - wooden, and decorated with antlers from a deer, to provide further context to her earlier exclamation - and you could see her cute face twisted into an irritable scowl. The expression only got stormier when Lady Dogwitch put her delicately gloved hand on her ankle, pushing her foot away. “Oh-hoh-hoh, really, now? Is that what you really feel?”

“Yes!!!” exclaimed the Forest Witch, her overuse of exclamation points along with her fervent blush exposing her lie. You see...

\- And please, for a moment, pardon the terminology -

...the Witch of the Western Woods was a _tsundere._

It was then that she noticed the pair of you standing there at the end of her clearing, and she retracted her limbs suddenly, quickly pushing herself up to her full (minuscule) height. Staring directly at you, she pointed at Lady Dogwitch and proclaimed, “Mirage! Illusion! Unwanted circumstances!!”

“Uh,” you said.

“Um,” Gaster buzzed.

“She is only welcome because of the dogs!! And she is not even that welcome!! Understand?”

“Um,” you said.

“Uh,” Gaster buzzed.

“I DO NOT LIKE HER!” There was a pause as the Forest Witch drew herself up and balled her fists in front of herself. “AT! ALL!”

“Okay,” you said.

“Right,” Gaster buzzed.

Seeming to take this as an act of aggression, the Forest Witch stared at you for a few moments, and immediately fled to the nearest tree, scaling it with absurd deftness of movement and a roaring clatter of leaves.

The air was soon filled with Lady Dogwitch’s delighted laughter, bubbling and warm. “Hehe! Ahahaha! Oh, goodness, that was certainly a spectacle! Fancy seeing you here. Would either of you like a sandwich? I have extra.” She gestured to a basket beside her, and, while doing so, nudged an interested snout out of the way.

“You know what? Sure.” You approached, Gaster trailing along beside you. “What’re you doing here, my lady?”

“Oh, just visiting.” As you sat down beside her, she lowered her voice, leaning in conspiratorially. “This is a wonderful place to let the hounds play in, and... the Forest Witch is an entertaining woman, wouldn’t you say? ”

You stifled a laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“Goodness, no! I genuinely like her. She’s very tender-hearted, despite all the bluster, and _so_ much fun to tease.” Lady Dogwitch gave you a lovely smile which -- in the circumstances -- was _absolutely terrifying._ You had no idea that her tastes were so bizarre.

You passed the first offered sandwich to Gaster, and then took the next one for yourself. As you did so, Lady Dogwitch asked, “So, what brings you two here?”

After swallowing your first bite, you replied, “Came t’ask the Witch about a ritual I’m preparing to make it safe for Gaster to go home. I brought almond cakes.” You gestured to the bag Gaster had settled beside him.

“Oh! Goodness. I’ll coax her back down, then.” She smiled and stood, nodding politely to both you and Gaster before turning to face the direction the Forest Witch had absconded in. “Oh daaaarliiing~”

You snorted, looking over at Gaster, who was just… perplexed. “How’re you holding up, there?”

He stared at the sandwich in his hands for a few moments. “Oh, fine. I just wasn’t expecting someone so…”

“Boisterous?” you filled in.

“Well, yes.” He took a tentative bite of sandwich, then another once he realized that it really was spectacular. “How’re you feeling?”  
  
“Better. Fresh air did me good, I guess.” You watched Lady Dogwitch trying to encourage the wayward wizard out of her perch, twirling her parasol merrily as she did so. “Man, I had no idea they were a thing.”

“Mm. The Witch of the Western Wood seems a little... dishonest with her feelings," he said mildly. "They clearly like each other very much. I don't quite understand the apparent charade."

You shrugged. “Heck if I know -- don’t really get it, myself.”

(You were both completely unaware of your mutual hypocrisy.)

It took about ten minutes, but eventually the Forest Witch dropped out of the canopy, clearly having regained at least some of her composure. “I’ll speak with them,” you could hear her saying, and then stomped over to you, flopping into a seat with a mighty clattering from her bone jewelry. With a single, imperial finger, she pointed at you. “Make your offering!”

Holding back a snicker, you leaned over Gaster (completely unaware as he looked up at the sky and turned a bit grey), grabbing the handle of the bag and presenting it to her. Roughly, she opened it, ripped open the top of the box inside, pulled out one of the little round cakes, and then…

Shoved the entire thing into her mouth, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk.

The Lady Dogwitch stared at her with obvious fondness as she sat down beside her, and the Forest Witch _firmly_ ignored her, instead waving at you vaguely. You took this to mean you could state your business.

You began to explain the story, and, out of the corner of your eye, noticed Gaster petting some of the dogs that came by to investigate. Er. Well. Beg for food. It was cute, though you had to flick him slightly to keep him from giving into those big, wide eyes. At some point during your story, the Forest Witch finished off the first sweet, and didn’t realize that what she was grabbing wasn’t another cake, but instead one of Lady Dogwitch’s sandwiches.

You could see the moment when the betrayal registered -- it was about half a second into the first bite. Then, her expression shifted as she seemed to realize that, _holy moly, she was so hungry and hadn’t eaten anything besides candy all day._

She wolfed down the food down at a frightening pace as you passed over your notes and diagrams over for inspection. “Pen,” she mumbled, her mouth full, and you fiddled around in your bag to hand her one. She began scribbling over your work, making little notes and alterations with one hand.

You watched her, oddly fascinated as she paused mid-scribble, glanced at Lady Dogwitch - who was still staring at her - and flushed before resuming her work.

It was surreal. You’d seen her step on someone’s foot and yell and them for calling her short, and _this_ was what was happening?

After a time, she handed the notes back to you, staring at you seriously. “You’re aware there will be consequences.”

Temporarily distracted from petting a particularly needy poodle, Gaster looked over at the Forest Witch. “Consequences?”

You frowned a bit, skimming over her meditations and her responses to your scrawled questions. “...There’s no way to avoid it?”

“Avoid _what?_ ” Gaster interjected, and you looked at him.

“So, um. Do you know what a dryad is?” You said, wincing a bit.

“A… what?”

“Well. Uh. Okay. So -- in folklore -- and we’re not sure if these stories are inspired by monsters, or wizards, or what, I’ve heard some pretty compelling arguments either way -- there are these creatures called dryads that -- “

The Forest Witch grew impatient of your meandering. “Forest spirits whose lives are woven into the trees that they guard. A single thread in a loom -- and, like thread, you will not stretch on forever.”

“You’ll get hurt if your tree is destroyed, and you won’t be able to go very far," you translated the Forest Witch's... particular speech. "Since your existence will be tied to the tree."

“I -- how far?” He asked, folding his hands in his lap. “How far would I be able to travel from it?”

“Um.” You looked at the Forest Witch -- the expert, here, in these matters. “How far, do you think?”

She grumbled, crossing her arms. “No exact distance. If it's planted in the city, the city is your domain. If it’s planted in the forest, the forest is your domain. Understood?”

“So… think of it like a cultural boundary, Gaster, rather than a precise one based on distance. Does that… make sense?”

He let out a breath. “That’s not too bad, I supposed.”  
  
You stared at him and how well he was taking it. Maybe it hadn’t sunk in, yet? “I’m sorry. I - know, that’s not… really that great. You just got out of the underground, and now I’m telling you that you’re going to be bound to one place for the rest of your life.”

He smiled at you, honest and sincere. “In the void, I couldn’t even _move_. This is… more than I ever thought I would have. So, how is this going to work, exactly?”

“Looks like… you think a sapling would be best?”

The Forest Witch crossed her legs, putting her hands on her ankles. “Yes. He will be a brother to that tree. It shall grow as he does, and, eventually, two hearts shall be as one.”

“Mm. Yeah. So. We’ll get a big pot for the sapling, and we’ll be _real_ careful as we find a place to put it. And… that’ll be up to you, and you should think pretty hard about where you want to spend the rest of your life.”

He nodded, slightly. “...Will I -- be able to see my brothers before I have to decide?”

“Mmhm. After the First of August, Lughnasadh… you’ll be able to see your brothers again.”

He nodded. “I understand. Hah… this is very surreal, I hope you understand.”

“I do. You can feel bad about this, you know? You don’t have to put on a brave face.”

He shook his head, his smile widening. “No… Well. You don’t have any plans of moving, soon, do you?”

You paused, staring at him, and then scratched your cheek as you felt the heat rise to your face. “I, I mean, not particularly, I kinda sorta can’t leave, either, since someone needs to… keep an eye on me… ahaha, that, that matters to you?”

“Well, of course it matters, you are my dear friend.”

“D-Dear, dear friend? Ahaha, haha -- “

“Are you done,” the Forest Witch said flatly, a huge scowl spread across her face. “If so, leave.”

“Er!” You turned to face her, gesturing with the papers in your hand. “Actually, I needed to ask you something!”

The woman waited with moderate patience, fiddling with her short curls as she did so.

“Have you been to Castle Spaghorde, lately?”

A pause, then. “No. Why?”

“I… think something’s wrong with the Castle. I wanted to see if you knew anything.”

"Wrong? Howso?"

"I just felt really... weird, there. Like something was really, really off." You rubbed the back of your neck. "I'm worried that the Beast has taken hold in the stone, or something."

“...Illumination has not been bestowed upon me.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “But I will go and observe.”

You let out a breath. “Alright. Thanks.”

The Forest Witch had gone into such deep contemplation that all she did was offer a nod to you. Deciding that you should probably go, you pushed yourself to your feet. “I’ll see you later, then, and -- thank you, Lady Dogwitch, the food was wonderful.”

“Yes,” Gaster said, standing just so he could bow before the both of them. “It was delicious, and thank you for your help, Witch of the Western Woods.”

You translated. The Forest Witch just grunted, but Lady Dogwitch beamed at you, twirling her parasol lightly. “Stay safe, you two.”

Waving, you turned back to the path, a couple of dogs sniffing at your shoes as you began your journey home.

The Good Lady of the Hounds watched you leave, a contemplative expression forming. “Are you alright?” she asked gently, turning her gaze to her reluctant companion.  
  
“...Mmn,” the Forest Witch grunted again, slouching a bit. “Don’t want to deal with it.”

“Spaghorde, you mean? I can go with you.”

She shook her head fervently, curls bouncing slightly. “Unnecessary. I will see, and tell of what I see at the highest tower.”

“...You mean, you’re going to go dump it on the Primus?”

“Exactly.”

Lady Dogwitch laughed, and the Forest Witch shoved her palm against the woman's face. “Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not _making fun_ of you,” she replied, trying to restrain a giggle. “You’re just so cute!”

“I am not cute!” she exclaimed in desperation, and so things began again.

 

* * *

 

Let us set the scene, as something was happening that simultaneously had nothing and everything to do with you.

Shadows gripped the walls of Castle Spaghorde, plunging the halls and courtyard into inky blackness. In this shadowy dwelling of ancient stone, a man sat in a bare room on the second floor. The night had cooled, somewhat, and the castle stone was chilly even on the warmest of days, but he still wore only a plain, grey shirt and jeans. A small lamp illuminated his face and the book he was peering at: a novel aimed at young adults, for he was quite young, really, perhaps twenty years of age or so. His features were broad, as were his shoulders, and he was the sort of man who looked a bit _rough,_ a bit _suspicious_ , in part due to his imposing stature.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he dragged his finger across the page. If anyone had cared enough about his existence as a child, his rather severe dyslexia might have been diagnosed at an age young enough for him to get some proper aid and learning assistance. 

Considering the entirety of his belongings currently fit inside a knapsack in the corner of the room, we can assume that didn’t happen.

“Bear!”

He looked up at the soft call, standing to greet the woman at the doorway. In stark contrast to him, she was short, lithe, and predominantly unassuming, being about forty years of age or so. Her most noticeable characteristics were the round-framed sunglasses she insisted on wearing, even in the dead of night, and her rather particularly light blonde hair. “Hello, ma’am, there’s -- “

She continued, brandishing a small paper bag. “We have something other than soup tonight! There’s a very, very cheap curry place on Northside that I had _no_ idea about. It's wonderful!”

“Ma’am, I -- “

“Also,” she began rooting around in the bag, withdrawing a hardback volume and offering it to Bear. “The next book in that series you like came out this week, so I picked it up on the way over.”

Bear stared for a moment, reaching out tentatively to take it. “M--Ma’am, where’d you get the money for this?”

“Pffffffffffft, money.” She set the bag of food down. “I stole it, obviously.”

“Oh.” Quietly, he nodded, and was about to open his mouth to continue when she began talking once more.

“--Anyway, we have enough to last us until the end of the week, and if things get difficult, there's a deal I could get in on - "

“Ma’am!” Bear raised his voice slightly, and immediately looked guilty for doing so. It was enough to get her to stop, though, and he nervously tapped the cover of the book. “Some people were snoopin’ around the castle today.”

“... _Really_ now.” Straightening herself, she faced Bear, pushing her glasses up on her face. “Who were they? Neither of them was Frisk, I assume?”

He shook his head. “Human and a monster,” he elaborated. “Never seen ‘em before.”

“What’d they do? Did they see you?” A beat, then, “Was the human a magus?”

“They were walking around... the human was looking for something, I think?” Bear fidgeted a bit, frowning. “They didn’t see me; I kept hidden, and I dunno if the human was a wizard. I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t think they saw anything - the monster made the human leave - but I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did exactly what I wanted you to.” She smiled, then bent over again and picked out a carton and a fork. “Now, let’s eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

He relaxed, a bit, setting the book down by the first and nodding hurriedly. As she was popping off the lid to their (rather late) dinner, though, she paused, freezing in place for a good five seconds.

“Ma’am?” he prompted, and she suddenly shoved both the container and the fork at him. After he took it, she hurried over to the window, concealing half her body as she surreptitiously peered out into the courtyard.

After a moment of contemplation, she said softly, “Well, that’s new. The Witch of the Western Woods has come to visit us."

Bear stood there, eyes wide, a thing of curry in one hand and a plastic fork in the other. “Uh. What should we do?”

“Why… we go have a nice little talk, obviously.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Witch of the Western Woods hated the city. It was smelly, it was crowded, it was claustrophobic. Of the local wizards, she was the least likely to venture out of her domain, so it was a particular oddity that she had come to Castle Spaghorde that night. Of course… that was your doing, wasn’t it?

She avoided the gate, instead choosing to enter the castle grounds through a hole in the wall mostly obscured by brush. The leaves rustled as she pulled herself through -she'd left her mask behind to ease her passage. Once inside, she stepped lightly and quickly, looking around with a pensive expression.

Despite what you’d said, nothing was striking her as particularly unusual about Spaghorde this evening. Still, the very thought of it worried her enough that she’d make a thorough search. However, despite her high intentions, she didn’t get very far.

In fact, she’d only made it to the doorway when she felt something haul her off her feet.

She tried to scream, she tried to struggle, and she was, in fact, incredibly good at both those things. However, unfortunately for her, Spaghorde was an isolated building on top of a mighty hill.

Even if a hand hadn’t been firmly clamped across her mouth, nobody would have heard her.

She wriggled, she tore, she bit and fought against the unseen force, and -- if it’d just been Bear to contend with -- maybe she could have wrestled herself free with pure, uncontrollable anger. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone, and -- without any fanfare -- a dagger was plunged into her stomach. With an ugly, wet sound and a muffled screech of pain, it was withdrawn, and the process was repeated until she went limp.

“I thought we were going to talk to her,” came Bear's voice from the dark.

“That was a euphemism for murder.” Lightly, the woman placed a hand on the former Forest Witch's chest, easily withdrawing the woman’s vibrantly red soul before it slipped off into the afterlife. "If we complete our work tonight, we won't have to worry about those visitors of yours.

Bear nodded slightly, his mouth twisted in sight discomfort regarding the entire situation. “I think this shirt is ruined.”

“Mmmn, well. That sort of thing won’t really matter when we end the world, will it?” Gently, she kept the soul suspended between her fingertips, then eased it into an empty soup can to keep it safe.

“...Shouldn’t we use something else for that?” He interjected, eyeing what she was doing dubiously.

Her voice contained an audible shrug. “Look, we’re poor. It’s what we have.”

“Mmn.” He sighed, gaze turning down to the lifeless body in his arms. “Whatever you say, Cerebrum.”

And that was that, really. That was how everything started. Well - no. No, no, this was a story years in the making - what should be said is...

The world was changed by a single phone call.

(In the end, the Witch of the Western Woods really, really wished she hadn't been embarrassed, back then.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh whoops.
> 
> man!! the pacing of this feels super weird to me! oh well. I'm actually going to go back and touch up old chapters, so maybe I'll fix this up a bit later.
> 
> Also, I want to thank you all so much for your really kind support. This is actually the longest I've stuck with a personal writing project - most of my writing experience comes from roleplay. So having so many kind supporters really just... keeps me going!
> 
> This is kind of the start of the real story. I hope you'll stick with me for future chapters.
> 
> Oh!! And I'm tickled pink by being asked questions about stuff in the fic! I'm pretty good about checking reviews, but my tumblr's always open, too. I've started using "Thaumatale" as a tag for this fic!


	11. Call a Taxi, Call a Cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to include a few little illustrations in this chapter! If people like them, I'll probably do more and retroactively add some. I do like to draw, haha.

You woke up in a dark, wretched sweat, sheets tangled around your legs and clasped tightly against your heart. You couldn’t recall the nightmare, really, all that remained were stark, deeply cut impressions of panic and fear. As you breathed, your heart beating as fast as a little bird’s, you accepted the truth bubbling in your veins and behind your eyes... one that you’d known, deep down, but couldn’t quite accept until right now.

Something horrible was happening, and it was _you_ who needed to stop it.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you shoved yourself off the bed and settled your bare feet onto the floor. It wasn’t that dark in your room - you had a night light, after all, one shaped like the sun - and you rubbed the sleep away as you faced the reddish-orange glow. Without much care to your appearance, you rifled through your closet, easing open drawers and pulling out anything that would be serviceable.

Pausing by the door, you nursed your lip, and then very, very quietly snuck into the next room.

You’d given Gaster the couch in your living room, making sure he was armed with as many blankets and beddings as he could possibly want. Considering that - until recently - your house had been sickeningly hot, that had ended up being “very little”. You could see the dark silhouette of his back as he clutched onto his pillow, curling his body around it and burying his face into its fluff. For a moment, you allowed yourself to admire how _freakin’ cute that was_ , but --

\-- But you didn’t want to disturb him, so you very, very quietly shut the door and picked your way to the staircase.

If he woke up, you knew he’d try to stop you. You couldn’t imagine him willingly allowing you to return to _that place_ even in the middle of the afternoon, much less in the forsaken depths of the night.

In fact, if he protested enough, perhaps he would really be able to stop you. You didn’t want to do this. The inky blackness outside? It twisted your gut into knots as ugly as abandoned Christmas lights. And there, that place? You knew something bad was going to happen, there, you knew you’d find something vile and wretched. It burned in your blood.

But that just meant you had to go. It was gut instinct, it was intuition, and it was unexplainable by any rational logic. And that…

...you didn’t think Gaster would understand that.

So, carrying your shoes in one hand to make less noise, you reached out to open the door to the staircase.

Suddenly, sharply, a sound rustled behind you, freezing you in place like a rabbit struck dumb by fear. The hairs on your arms prickled, and you stopped breathing as you heard a soft call of, “...Bit? Is that…”

Schnitzel and noodles, why did Gaster have to be _such a light sleeper?_

You remained still, perhaps in the hollow hope that, if you didn’t move, he wouldn’t be able to see you, hand on the doorknob and dubious intent in your heart.

Sadly for you, that was not the case, and you heard the sound of the pillow shifting as he pushed himself into a sit. “What’re you doing up?”

“Uh,” you replied, charismatically and intelligently. “Gotta, uh. Gotta pee.”

“...There isn’t a bathroom downstairs,” he said carefully, and you could hear him stand behind you.

“Um.” Desperately, you tried to think of another excuse, but could only meekly say, “It’s… a secret.”

“A secret.” His mouth shifted, growing thin in suspicion. “And… what sort of secret needs to be attended to in the middle of the night?”

“A, um. A secret-secret.”

“I see.” Still, you had not looked at him, and this seemed to cause him some degree of worry, as he approached, fingertips pressing lightly into your shoulder to encourage you to face him. “It’s a secret that involves doing something dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Uhhh,” you flicked your gaze to his face, finally, and then studiously averted it. “Uh. Sort of?”

“Sort of.”

“Y-Yeah, uh, I -- “ After a pause, you mustered up as much determination as you could in this state. “I have to go! I’m sorry! Something’s wrong at Castle Spaghorde; I can feel it my blood, my bones! I can’t explain why, but I know I _have_ to go there right now!”

“Alright,” Gaster replied. “Let’s go.”

“I have to, and it _has_ to be me! I know that you -- wait. What?”

Gaster inclined his head towards the door. “You obviously feel very strongly about this, and I’d rather you not travel alone. So. Shall we?”

You stared at him. “You’re not going to tell me that I’m imagining things? That I’m a fool? You’re not going to ask for proof?”

“Well,” he crossed his arms, looking down at you. “I can’t say I understand it. But this obviously goes deeper than sudden impulse, and... I believe in you."

For a moment, all you could do was stare. It was a sudden feeling, the one that struck you, of overwhelming warmth and incomprehensible affection. It’d been easy, back then, when you were so cool and confident and offering him his salvation to him on a silver platter. But now, when you felt so weak? So small? So lost?

 _I believe in you_ filled you with such incredible strength and a strange, powerful feeling you couldn’t quite name. “Okay. Okay, we’ve got to hurry!”

Energy renewed, you turned to the door, throwing it open and racing down the stairs. Behind you, you could hear Gaster calling, “Put on your shoes first! Also, make sure you bring a flashlight! And if you start getting sick again, I _am_ going to start carrying you!”

“Okay, Doc!” came your merry reply. Despite the crushing weight of your impending doom, you carried a brightly burning fire in your heart. It sparkled like the summer sun on the water, it sparkled like ice in the glinting light of the afternoon.

It sparkled like Determination.

* * *

 

“Have you considered,” Inquisitor Legbiter said quietly - but still with some obvious mirth - as he ducked under the window and looked over at his companion. “That we should probably both be in jail?”

“There are lots of people who _should be_ in jail who _aren’t_ . Besides, this is -- this is fine. This isn’t stalking,” came the Primus’ hissed reply, accompanied by a petulant scowl. “This is -- _it's for the good of the domain._ ”

Considering that the both of them had been surreptitiously tailing a minor for the better part of three days, yes, it was stalking, and yes, they probably both belonged in jail.

In their defense, they actually had a very, very good reason to be lurking outside Toriel’s home, trying to glean as much information as they could about the Queen of the Monsters and her strange, human ward. No more were their investigations founded on pure suspicion, and no more was the Primus’ uneasiness founded solely on history and suppositions...

...For they had found out about the existence of _Flowey._

That, however, was a revelation to be discussed at a later time, for now, something rather significant was about to happen.

“TORIEL!” came a screech from down the street, a piercing sound accompanied by a cacophony of limbs. The rapidly approaching sound caused the two thoroughly dubious men to dive for cover, taking shelter behind a conveniently sized shrub. “TORIEL, WAKE UP!”

The pair recognized the voice, although neither were well acquainted with its owner by any means. Undyne of the Royal Guard was supposed to be their natural enemy, after all, and given the vivacious force with which she hammered on Toriel’s front door, she’d likely prove to be a fearsome foe indeed. “TORIEL!”

It didn’t take very long for her call to be answered; Toriel hadn’t been asleep, after all, but instead absorbed in a late night Sex and the City marathon with the skeleton the Primus now knew as _Sans._ “Undyne?” Queen Toriel said hesitantly, standing in the doorway. “What’s wrong, my dear? It’s very late.”

“Is Alphys with you?! I’ve tried texting everyone, and you’re the only one who didn’t respond! Well, and Sans! But Sans never answers his phone!” Undyne was shouting so loudly that the whole street could probably hear her. “ANYWAY!! Is Alphys with you?”

“N-...No?” Toriel stuttered. “Frisk is sleeping, so if you could -- oh, good evening, my child.”

“Frisk! Have you seen Alphys? Did you guys plan some dumb sleepover and NOT INVITE ME?”

The child must have uttered a response too quiet for the two men to hear, because Undyne quickly launched into a desperate, “Sans? You both are huge freaking nerds, you know where she is?” The panic in her voice was stifling.

“nope. is something fishy going on?” Sans had not ventured outdoors, yet, for neither man could see him in the furtive peeks they took from around the bush.

“AGH!! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR STUPID JOKES! I can’t find Alphys anywhere!!”

“What happened?” Toriel, bless her heart, could remain cool even in the face of gratuitous screaming.

“We were in the middle of binge-watching this anime Alphys wanted to watch! And then!! The TV started acting weird and Alphys said “oh I can fix that I’ll be right back” and then!! She wasn’t right back! I’ve looked everywhere but no one has seen her! Where did she GO?”

Toriel’s voice tightened. “How long ago was this?”

“About an hour ago!”

“So… around one in the morning,” Toriel mused to herself. “And you’re _certain_ that she wasn’t in the house?”

“I turned everything upside-down looking for her! LITERALLY.” Undyne gestured particularly emphatically,

“Did you find any clues about where she’d gone?”

“No!! She just vanished!!”

“Let us contact the police,” the Queen said firmly. “I do not like the sound of this.”

Frisk mumbled something, a faint hush of a voice that was only barely perceptible to the hidden pair.

Luckily, Undyne repeated it for them. “What the heck is Castle Spaghorde? It sounds kind of cool!”

“I -- I have to go!” That thin little voice was raised, and from their hiding spot the Primus could see the thirteen year-old child break off from the group, starting off into a run down the dark street.

“My -- my child?” Toriel was the first to speak, but Undyne was the first to _react_ , leaning over and heaving Frisk up. They dangled, held aloft by her hands underneath their armpits.

“Where do you think you’re going, punk?” She asked as they wriggled.

Now captured, Frisk couldn’t just run off without an explanation. Again, sadly for the two eavesdroppers, the answer was given in a fashion unintelligible to them, although this time, it was because Frisk used their hands to speak.

“Why would she be at a place like that?”

More signs. The Primus would have quietly sworn at this point, but Legbiter anticipated this, and placed a warning hand over his mouth.

“WHAT!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SOMEONE KIDNAPPED HER? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, FRISK?”

Toriel could only let out a quietly affronted, “U-Undyne!”

More signs.

“NGAAHH! YOU’RE RIGHT! We don’t have time!” With that, Undyne switched her grip on Frisk, throwing them over her shoulder and then bursting off into a run. Realizing no one was following her, she stopped, turned back, and looked at the somewhat perturbed looking crowd. “Well? What are you WAITING FOR? We’ve gotta go!”

“A-Again, we should probably contact the police!” Toriel interjected, ever the voice of reason. “This sounds very dangerous!”

“I EAT DANGER FOR BREAKFAST!” This was actually fact. Undyne’s cereal of choice was a brand called Danger Flakes. “And we don’t NEED those losers or their stupid PAPERWORK and their stupid ‘I KNOW IT’S JUST A FENDER-BENDER MA’AM BUT WE NEED TO FILE A REPORT’ AND!! UGH!! Alphys is in trouble NOW!”

From his position, the Primus saw Frisk sign something in Sans’ direction, and - despite the distance - he could make out the look on the child’s face.

It was an expression so determined that it made his blood run cold.

“...well. i know a shortcut, i guess,” Sans said with a shrug, looking up at Toriel. “guess season three has to wait.”

Clearly, Toriel didn’t think much of this idea, however, there wasn’t a lot she could do, other than go along with it and try her best to keep everyone from harm. (She was _ferociously strong_ , after all…)

As Toriel was rushing to catch up to the hotheaded pair, Sans looked back - a seemingly casual gesture - but it was aimed directly at the bush the two men were hiding behind. For a long, long moment he stared, sockets dark, before turning and slowly plodding along to join the group ahead.

There had been nothing there.

A long moment passed. Two. Then. “...Are you. Are you going to get off me?”

"Mmn," Legbiter said, looking at the man he had pinned to the ground. "I just saved us from a considerably awkward situation. I think I deserve a reward."

As admirable as the Inquisitor's quick reflexes were, Alan wasn’t in the mood for something like this. “Oh _fuck you_ and move it, we’ve got to follow them.” He wriggled, then knee’d his Inquisitor in the stomach. Lightly. “If this really has _anything_ to do with that shitty hellhole, I’m going to turn someone’s goddamn asshole inside-out.”

Legbiter rolled off of him, ‘pfft-ing’ softly and peering back over the bush. Despite having shoved them both out of sight, Legbiter had a strange feeling that the short skeleton had known they were there all along. Interesting.

Tonight was going to be _very_ interesting.

(Infuriatingly enough for the Primus, after having turned the corner, the gathering seemed to have disappeared into thin air. With a considerable amount of grumbling about _I am too damn old for this,_ they’d both set off at a run. They knew where to go, at least.

That grim castle - its stark silhouette plastered against the mighty heavens - awaited them.)

 

* * *

 

A moment, now, to travel briefly into the past, before anyone knew how terribly things had gone wrong - anyone except the shy, anxiety-ridden Doctor Alphys, that is. Given that _shit, she’d been kidnapped,_ she was very, very well aware.

All she’d wanted was to fix her router and watch an anime about sword-fighting lesbians, and _this_ was what she got - an eerie, stone basement dripping with malice and the barrel of a gun pointed directly at her head. Poor Alphys!

Wasn’t that just her life in a nutshell? Everything she touched turned to _garbage._

“Good evening, Doctor,” a warm voice said, a warm voice attached to a _gun, a gun, why was someone pointing a gun at her, this wasn’t okay._

“A-AAAHHH!” Alphys replied, curling up as far as she could in her corner and shielding her face. “Ahhh! AHHH!”

“...Doctor Alphys.”

She peered out between her claws again and, upon seeing that, _yep, gun was still there, she was still about to die, her trash existence was still about to be ended,_ she continued screaming. Now, though, it was intermixed with messy, choking sobs and stuttered pleas. “D-don’t shoot me, p-p-p-please, what did I do, I m-muh-mean I know, I know what I did, but, but oh, what do you waaaaant!”

“Doctor Alphys.”

“Please please please I just want to go home let me go home _please please_ I’m not going to do bad stuff anymore p-please, _please let me go home!!”_

The hammer clicked. “Shut up, Doctor Alphys.”

Immediately, she fell quiet, the sound of her heavy, hurried breathing the only thing filling the room. She wheezed, trying to restrain choked sobs, and she was not shot. Eventually -- slowly -- Alphys managed to collect herself enough to actually take stock of her situation, and she peered out through her claws again, looking at the woman who was crouched near her.

The gun was no longer pointed straight at her, to her utmost relief, but it was still there in the woman’s hand, temporarily angled to the floor. For a moment, Alphys stared at those strange, dark lenses on the middle-aged humans face, then quickly averted her gaze. After opening her mouth to say something, she quickly remembered the command, and closed it tight.

“Have you calmed down, Doctor Alphys?” the woman said, a disturbingly wide smile on her face.

There was a tiny nod from the Doctor.

The woman beamed wider. “Good! You can talk now, by the way.” She pushed herself to her feet, looking down at the curled up monster. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you -- that is, if you do _exactly_ what I say. Do you understand?"

Alphys nodded, trying desperately to keep calm. It wasn’t really working.

“Good, good. Now, I have a little...  task, I need completed, and then you’ll be free to go running home to your girlfriend!”

Undyne. The thought of her made Alphys’ heart clench. What was she doing right now? Had she realized she was missing? Was she coming to save her? “W-wh-what do you w-want?”

“Look around for a moment, Doctor. What do you see?”

She stared for a moment, not quite ready to play I-Spy, but then she took a quick glance around, now really wanting to take her eyes off the _woman with the gun, why had this happened to her!!_

After realizing what her attention had been drawn to, however, Alphys found herself transfixed. “These are -- _this is from the, th--the Lab!_ ”

 _The_ Lab being the _True_ Lab, and, yes, she was quite right. The stone, castle basement - once used to house grains and vegetables - had been converted into a miniature laboratory, complete with bizarre machines and a shiny metal worktable. The room was, overall, well lit, particularly for its location, and it was a surreal contrast between advanced monster technology and ancient masonry.

In the corner, a very, _very_ tall man sat reading a book. He glanced up once he noticed Alphys’ look and gave her a small wave.

Alphys didn’t wave back, dumbstruck. “How -- how did you _get_ this?” She kind of knew, really, lurking in the back of her mind was a vague sort of certainty that, when they’d been moving everything out of Mount Ebott, the disappearance of a few key pieces of equipment was _this woman’s_ fault.

She smiled, placing a single finger over her mouth. “That’s not really necessary for you to know, dear, you only need to know that I need you to… alter a soul.”

“A--Alter a soul,” Alphys repeated.

“Yes.” With a few quick strides, she cleared the distance to the table, picking up a… soup can, and then shook out the contents. Turning, she proffered something to Alphys with one hand, the other still wrapped around the handle of the gun.

The soul in the palm of her hand glowed a gentle, consistent red, somehow warm despite the clinical lighting. Alphys stared at it in abject horror, swallowing thickly. “Wh--wh… wh…”

“What do I want done? I’m very glad you asked. You _see,_ my dear Doctor, I need you to -- among other things -- infuse it with DTE, and then… well! We’ll get to that later. All tasks within your capabilities, I’m certain.” 

The shaking started slowly, just a little tremor in her hands, but then it was in her arms, and her knees, and she buried her face in her knees. “I -- I -- I…”

There it was, again, the threatening click of the hammer, and Alphys knew without looking that it was pointed directly at her. “...am going to do it, yes? If not, I’m sure you know what happens.” A very slight pause. “Undyne will be devastated, you know. Ahh… what will she sprinkle your dust over at the funeral? Your plush toys? Your anime? Isn’t it so interesting, what possessions we use to define our lives?”

Alphys was silent, so the Cerebrum continued, rather like a middle-aged mother discussing little Timmy’s soccer game. “They’ll miss you. They’ll cry over you. And you won’t even be hurting anyone by doing this, really. In fact… You’ll be saving the world from its own wretchedness. Haven’t you always wanted to be part of something grand? This will be the grandest thing you’ll ever take place in.”

The monster didn’t respond. “...I will shoot you, you know, if you do not say “yes” within the next five seconds. You are _very_ dispensable. But… to Undyne, you are the most precious thing in the world. You know that, don’t you? Are you _really_ ready to make her suffer?”

Silence.

“One…”

“Two…”

“Thre--”

Alphys stood up, suddenly, taking a deep breath. “Y-you, you have -- extracted Determination already?”

The Cerebrum smiled. “I do.”

“O-Okay. I. Okay. Let’s. Let’s. Give it to me.”

Something must be said for Alphys. Right now, she was trying to be her bravest, because -- right now -- she was trying to _believe_ something.

That Undyne loved her.

That Undyne would give the world for her.

That Undyne would _save_ her, would _rescue_ her, and all she needed to do was buy time.

It should also be said that the Cerebrum knew this, too. She knew Alphys’ intent, and she _knew_ she was only trying to hold out until rescue came. That was one of the reasons she kept mentioning the Captain of the Royal Guard, really, to firmly remind Alphys of her presence -- and the knight’s devotion.

It should also be said that she was entirely, completely confident that Undyne would be too late.

The Witch of Lies lowered her gun and offered the heart shaped soul as she stood. Alphys took it, cradling it between her trembling hands. And she tried to be so, so brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i could NOT figure out how to fit this in the scene, but the Primus and Legbiter are wearing different clothes than usual in the picture because they wanted to look less conspicuous.


	12. Call an Ambulance, Call 911 - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to get worse and worse, and we - the readers - get a new perspective on things.

It shone faintly, that distant star - that foreboding sphere barely perceptible against the mighty backdrop of forest and stone. Stirring there, and softly waiting, it had only the moon and the moths for company… and its ill-intent was so subtle that only those who climbed that solemn hill would even have a chance at noticing it.

Well. Even saying that, there was little that escaped the kings of the night.

A soft hoot. A silent swoop. It’s strange, isn’t it? How such little things can change the world?

 

* * *

 

The light of your flashlight swirled in iridescent hues as you examined the bubble curved around the entirety of Castle Spaghorde. Its shimmer entranced the scientist next to you, and you watched him experimentally test its strength with a few sharp knocks. Despite its flimsy, fragile appearance, it didn’t pop - and, in fact, it held up extremely well to the further pressure he applied to it. “What’s this?

“Barrier,” you replied, a frown darkening your mouth. Was this what you’d seen a glimpse of earlier? The foundations of this? “The physical manifestation of the tenacity of the human soul. I don’t get what’s up with this, though.”

“What do you mean?” His fingertips traced patterns across the reflected purples and greens.

“Well, I mean -- what good’s a barrier with a brickload of holes in it?” You gestured to the very obvious, very _gap-like_ openings peppering the entire structure, the entire thing rather reminding of you of swiss cheese. You were, like... 95% sure you could just walk through with _no problems_ , and that made you incredibly nervous.

He treated you to a particularly blank look. “...What holes?”

Furrowing your brow, you stared in return, then stuck your hand through one of the circles, waving it around for emphasis. “These holes? The really _big ones?_ ”

“How -- how are you doing that?” Awestruck, he reached out, placing his hand next to your arm. Strangely enough, his fingers flattened out, spreading over an imaginary curve. To you, it looked like he was simply pressing against the air.

“Wait, you don't -- “ Suddenly, realization struck you like a bullet, and your mouth puckered into a little ‘o’. “Oh, I get it! _That’s genius!”_

He pressed harder, then looked at you. “Care to elaborate?”

You pulled your arm back, instead using it to gesticulate. “Okay, so. I won’t get into specifics - ‘specially since I only know the theory, I’m more of a breaker than a maker - but, basically, like, imagine a bowl of brownie mix. Unless you have, like, an absurd amount of batter -- like, a _what’s-wrong-with-you-are-you-ok_ amount - if you put your mix in a really big pan, your brownies are going to come out really thin and crispy, right? And you don’t want that, you want them to be nice and thick. And moist. Maybe with some, like, chocolate chunks -- “

“...Ahem,” he said lightly, reminding you of the task at hand.

“ -- Right! Anyway, the batter is the soul, the pan is how big you want your barrier to be, and we’re looking at a _big_ barrier, the kind of stuff that needs more than one wizard to make. Obviously not going to work out, right? It’s going to be too thin! So, what out clever little culprit has done is -- basically, this barrier only has power through _lies._ Only a little bit of it is actually there; there’s an illusion tricking your eyes into seeing the rest. And, because you _believe_ that there’s an entire barrier, it gets more substance - so, basically…”

You gestured grandly to the shimmering space in front of you. “The creator skimped, making only a few parts of the barrier real, and they’re letting your own belief fill in the rest! Oh man, even better -- this thing’s pretty subtle! I mean, we didn’t even realize it was here until we got close… That means anyone who sees it is going to be _specifically investigating_ the Castle! They’ll be expecting something weird, like we did! It’s just meeting our expectations!”

You didn’t notice how fondly Gaster was looking at you, so deeply were you pondering what, exactly, this meant for your… expedition. Yes, seeing incredibly intelligent spellcraft set that academic fire burning within you. But the practical side of you realized that, uh…

A smart opponent was pretty bad, wasn’t it?

Without a word, you came to a quick decision, and you immediately pulled out your cell-phone and began to dial. Now that you had proof - distinct, absolute _proof_ \- you needed to let the Primus know something was up. You had the training for this kind of problem, sure, but your sword and your authority had both been stripped from you long ago.

Sadly, it was not to be. The call couldn’t even connect.The eternal dilemma of magi!

(Even if it had, the Primus wouldn’t have answered. He was… otherwise occupied, not that you could possibly know that.)

“No luck?” Gaster buzzed, and you shook your head, your expression having made the descent back into grimness.

Among all the possibilities, one stood out to you particularly. As you looked back to the barrier, placing a hand on the grain of truth within the lies, you explained. “No, which is… pretty bad, since we’re definitely up against someone who trained under the Cerebrum. This is her style. Whoever, whatever is in there -- I have a feeling that’s the culprit that Many-Names was talking about. If we’re going with their profile -- what we’re looking at is… probably two wizards, one of them a former cultist, the other their student who’s probably been fed a _lot_ of lies and misinformation.”

Gaster nodded, staring at your face and how your mouth twisted when you said _cultist._ Whoever was in there might have even been a former friend of yours who’d somehow survived that day. “What should we do?”

You took a deep breath. “Can you fight?”

There was a brief pause before his answer. “I’d say so, yes.”

“Okay. So. Killing is never our first option; that’s Inquisitor 101. Ideally, we’re able to talk an opponent down without having to even draw arms, but intimidation is a pretty good tactic if that doesn’t work. So.” You gestured to him briefly before crossing your arms. “Human magic has always been more defensive in nature; it’s why we’re so good at barriers, after all. The human soul is _tough._ On the flipside, monsters have always been way better at harnessing their magic for combat… glass-cannon style, you know? In fact -- most of us don’t really have any affinity with weapons. We can’t even _use_ things like guns… they’re too modern. So...”

You looked at him. “If whoever is in there doesn’t back down, they might be scared by a display of force. Weaponry isn’t something that most of us are used to.”

(Carefully, you left out telling him that, in fact, it was forbidden for most to even _attempt_ to weaponize human magic. That’d just make a huge pain in the butt for an Inquisitor, after all...)

He nodded swiftly. “I understand. I can do that.”

“Okay. Um.” You paused, then fully faced him. “Don’t feel pressured into saying yes. We might actually have to hurt people - they might try to hurt _us,_ and, I know monsters are fragile -- “

He held up a hand to interrupt you. “Absolutely not; I’m coming with you. Now. Is there anything else we should discuss?”

His tone was one that brokered no argument, and you sighed, knowing that time was of the essence. “No. Okay. Let’s go.”

Taking Gaster’s hand, you lead him through the hole in the barrier - which was easy enough for him to pass through now that you’d explained the mechanics of the lie to him. As he stepped through, though, he seemed to realize something, and he quietly murmured a question to you. “...How did you immediately know about the holes? Is that a special skill of yours?”

You paused, glancing back at him. “I, uh. No? Uh...”

After sharing a mutually puzzled look, you both decided in tandem that it would be better to Think About it Later. With that, you went into the dark, your heart set firmly as you planned _._ It was kind of funny, really, how you were both _so right_ and _so wrong_ regarding your analysis of the situation… and how one misunderstanding changed your perception of everything.

 

 

* * *

 

Undyne was the first to arrive, technically, although you were a close second, since your self proclaimed best friend had insisted on carrying you the entire way. You --

 _There’s nothing “self-proclaimed” about it, Chara, she_ is _my best friend. One of them._

...You only get one best friend, dummy, that’s what _best_ friend means. And it’s _not_ Undyne!

_Who is it, then?_

Chara mentally huffed, doing their best impression of a petulant child - all the more convincing since they were, in fact, _a huge brat --_

_Hey! I’m not petulant! You’re the petulant, one, and, and fractious, too! You’re an irascible irritant, Frisk!_

Despite your gloominess, the irony coaxed a small smile out of you - although, it didn’t linger for long. In Undyne’s enthusiasm to win the Being the Best at Rescuing Girlfriends competition, she completely humiliated herself by slamming into Castle Spaghorde’s barrier and - given her obscene speed - the calamity sent her skidding across the ground. You, of course, were dragged along with her.

It was probably a good thing that you’d well-honed your ability to dodge, since otherwise you’d have been crushed by over two-hundred pounds of violent, muscled fish.

“What the f--ffffrick is this?” Undyne stuttered, yellow eyes wide as she looked up at the barrier. It was beautiful, really, shining softly in the light of the moon, and that apparently pissed her the heck off. How dare it get in her way! With a vicious snarl, she leapt to a crouch, summoned her spears, and began trying to beat the metaphorical snot out of the offensive bubble.

Her attack was… not very effective.

Slowly, you picked yourself up, watching Undyne for a few moments before reaching into the band of your shorts to check on the precious treasure you’d concealed there. It was safe. Good.

Since you were being a big baby, you had to stop to take a few shuddering breaths, and in the time it took to emotionally prepare yourself for the task at hand, the others caught up. Seriously, Frisk, it’s going to be okay. Good old Chara will take care of things!

“What… is this?” You heard Toriel gasp behind you, her voice partially drowned out by the vibrant _ting-ting_ of Undyne’s spears as they glanced off the barrier. “This is where Alphys is being kept?”

“I dunno, but this shit is GOING DOWN!!” With a grand gesture, Undyne brought forth an armada of ethereal blue weapons, arranging them in a dramatic, circular pattern. With a sharp motion, they angled and struck a singular point with unrestrained ferocity. It was pretty cool, you had to admit, despite the circumstances.

The barrier remained - uncracked and unbroken. “WHAT THE FRICKITY FRICKIN FRACK!”

Of course it did. None of them would break it, _could_ possibly break it, and if they did, you knew they’d die, just as they had _time_ and _time_ again, just as things had gone wrong _time_ and _time_ again as you couldn’t do anything, since you always lost and nothing you did ever _worked_ \--

_Woah! Frisk! Calm down, seriously! This one’s different. You know? We’re finally at the end! We’re finally going with my plan! It’s going to be okay!_

Toriel put up her hands, her expression firming up. “Let me try.”

_Hey, don’t just ignore me!_

Sans settled next to you, his expression one of feigned relaxation. The glance he shot in your direction was telling, and slowly, he asked, “...got any answers for us, kid?”

_Hey, stop thinking about that ketchup-eating snotface and let me talk! I’ve got something important to say!_

You couldn’t respond; the guilt burned too heavily in your throat. The street was set alight with the sound of clanging metal and flickering flames, and quietly, Sans watched you, trying to make some sense of your expression. He always did that. He always just looked at you like you were a puzzle, something to _solve_ and to _take apart_ and you could feel those sins of yours, wriggling through your skin like worms. He never asked about it, and you could never work up the nerve to tell him.

What would he even do, anyway? Would he help you? Condemn you? _Why even try -_ you remembered him asking that, and, sometimes, you asked the same thing of yourself.

_Don’t you dare start talking like that stupid butthead! For all I care, he can go shove a carrot up his skeletal farthole! Ohhhh booo ho, life’s so pointless, God is dead, nothing we do matters and it’s better to just sleep the day away like a depressed garbage can! Look, Sans doesn’t get it, he’s never tried to get it, so let’s leave his emotional baggage alone for today, okay?_

_We’ve got obligations to fulfill._

It was a long, tense moment - like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen - before you finally took a step forward. Nobody but Sans noticed until you were right up against the barrier. Toriel paused in her attack, looking over at you. “Frisk? What are you doing?”

Slowly, carefully, like you knew exactly what you were doing - (since you did, you know, you’d done this before) - you stepped through. To the assembled monsters, it looked like you’d simply passed through the iridescent bubble, the barrier reforming seamlessly around your skin. It lasted for a mere second, but to the Queen, her guard, and her wastrel of a friend _\-- hey, stop that! --_ it lasted an eternity.

_Ohh, finally acknowledging my existence, now! How wonderful!_

Undyne froze mid motion, her arm stretched out in the middle of an emphatic gesture, before her expression broke into a huge, toothy grin that shredded your heart. “Nice job, kiddo! How’d you do that?”

Toriel placed her hands on the barrier, trying to replicate what you’d done, to no success. “My child, is it possible for you to let us through, too?”

Sans was the only one who noticed you take the knife out of your pants, and the pinpricks of his eyes were focused on that small, timid glint. “...frisk.”

After a pause, you looked back at your friends - your family - and there was something heart wrenching about that stupid smile you forced on your face. “I’m sorry,” you said in a voice as fragile and weak as the first snow of winter. “It’s gotta be just me.”

There was no way you could explain that this place would be the death of them should they enter. That woman --

\-- had really gone mad.

And you’d only be able to put a stop to it through blood.

_(In the end… some people can only be reached through violence. Didn’t we learn that with Asgore, Frisk? Didn’t we learn that with Dad?)_

“What do you mean, my child?” Realization seemed to settle in like a dull, heavy stone, and she began fiercely banging her fist against the barrier, trying desperately to reach out to you. “Frisk! Don’t! As your mother, I -- I order you to come back here right this instant! FRISK!”

You turned, hiding that smile from them. “Don’t worry,” you said, voice barely perceptible underneath Toriel’s desperate pleas. “It’s okay. I’ll save the world.”

“FRISK! Whatever is on your mind, my child, whatever it is we’re facing -- you do not have to do it alone! Please, let us help you! FRISK!” She cried out as -- again -- Toriel had to watch as another of her children set off to their death. Slowly, you plodded towards the castle gates.

_Woah that’s -- that’s, uh, that’s kinda dark, even for you. Um. I -- Hey, hey, I know I said -- hey, is this really okay?_

_If this pacifistic nonsense is really that important to you, we can find some other way… Frisk!_

Your hand tightened on the handle of your knife. This was going to be it. The last run.

“What the fuck?” Undyne whispered. “What the fuck are they doing? What the -- WE’RE YOUR FRIENDS, FRISK! WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HEROES TOGETHER! WE’RE A TEAM! Frisk! FRISK! STOP! NO!!” The warrior took a few steps back, and then violently rammed herself against the barrier, much like a fish desperately trying to escape its bowl. “FRISK! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!”

Silently, Sans stared at your retreating back - you didn’t have to look behind you to know it was true. You were certain he was remembering that orange hallway, and how the blood had pooled out from your stomach. ‘Don’t worry,’ you’d said back then, so confident and full of newly born determination. ‘I’ll fix everything.’

Who was he more disgusted with? The world? You? Himself?

It was hard to tell, really.

He didn’t even bother joining the others in their pleas, knowing it would be pointless, knowing that nothing he could do could help them reach you. He’d never been able to help anyone at all.

Sans could only watch as the desperate cries of his friends filled the air… and it’s our fault, Chara, remember that.

For once, the child swathed in buttercups couldn’t say anything in return.

 

* * *

 

Electric light spilled over your face, the stone doorway to the secret basement laboratory framing your small form. The Cerebrum was the first to notice - which was the case for everything in her life, really, not much escaped her very _particular_ vision. Her mouth pulled back into a violent parade of teeth - she had one of those kinds of smiles, you know? The sort of expression that reminded you of how - at their core - humans were just made up of blood and bones. “Hello, Frisk. I’d wondered if you were coming.”

You didn’t reply, your knife trembling slightly in your fingertips. You could do this. You’d made your decision. After a swallow, you took a single step forward, moving your piece in the Great Game between you and her. And you were going to _win_ , this time.

_This isn’t a game, Chara._

“F-Frisk?” Alphys looked back at you, her voice torn between terror and hope as she looked away from the strange machine she’d been carefully setting up. You couldn’t look at her, hating that she’d be seeing you like this.

“Keep working, Doctor Alphys.” _She_ stepped around the table, leaving only a few feet of space between herself and the doorway. “Is this it, then? Have you finally learned that there’s only two solutions to this problem?”

 The knife didn’t steady, even as you pointed it directly at the _that woman_. Something in your breathing had gone a bit funny.

 _F--Frisk?_ _Hey, let me take over now!_

The blonde woman sighed in something like pity. “You look so tired. How many repetitions have we gone through? It’s certainly been well over a hundred.”

You took a step towards _her_ , biting your lip so hard that a small droplet of blood dribbled down your chin. Something about the sight seemed to amuse her.

“Ahh… I’d wondered how long this would take. Don’t feel bad for finally accepting your nature!” Somehow, she could still manage to make her voice sound kind. “It’s inevitable, in the end, that we all turn to blood.”

Alphys couldn’t tear her eyes away, her mouth making little movements - small, barely perceptible articulations. You hoped that she’d remain frozen by her fear. You didn’t want her to be involved.

With a small series of steps, Bear approached her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Keep working, Doctor Alphys.” (He’d always been soft about these things.)

“You’ve been a little… erratic this iteration, I must admit. Trying to pull someone out of the void? _Really?_ ” She sighed again, looking for all the world like a particularly disappointed parent. “I suppose you’ve gotten desperate. Why won’t you just accept it, Frisk? The end of the world?”

 _I’m serious, let me do this! I never wanted it to be_ you _that fought her! You don’t know how to use that knife; you don’t even have any LV to compensate! You’ll be slaughtered! FRISK!_

“I…” Finally, you opened your mouth to address your old teacher. “I have to…”

Those hot, brimming tears finally broke free, and you choked back a sob as you leapt forward, the blade of your knife slitting through the air. “I have to protect everyone!”

The shot rang out suddenly, a violent burst of sound that reverberated through the hollow halls. The Cerebrum stood there, gun pointed straight at you, and there was pain

and in uncomprehending shock, the knife clattered to the floor

(it sounded dull, muffled, as the distant ringing filled your ears.)

Slowly, you raised still-trembling hands to your chest, quick, heaving breaths passing through your parted mouth, and all that remained was fervent agony.

“FRISK!” Alphys screamed as you collapsed, your body thudding dully on the stone floor. Someone else was screaming your name, over and over and over again. Who was that?

With a click and a shift, the Cerebrum redirected her pistol, aiming it at the scientist. “ _Keep working, Doctor Alphys, or you’re next.”_

You heard the strangled choke of Alphys’ own tears, and you were so, so sorry she’d had to see all this. You really had failed, hadn’t you? What were you even trying to do?

_She cheated, she used a stupid gun and she’s a stupid cheater, but it’s fine!_ _You’re fine!_ Red eyes framed by yellow blossoms eclipsed your vision, and you knew that everything was going to be fine, because your friend was here... your friend would give you the power to reset it all! You could go straight back to the beginning, to that day in the park! Or any other place! I admit my plans are really bad; we can go with yours next time! Whatever you want! FRISK! You can't give up just yet!

They placed a ghostly hand on your cheek. “C’mon, I know you’re probably going into shock or something, but you have to reset! You have to! You -- “

Another flash of vibrantly yellow pain filled your vision, and you looked up, seeing the Cerebrum looming over you and looking so _tired_ behind those shaded lenses. She pressed harder with her boot, grinding her heel into the bullet wound. “I don’t like this, you know,” she whispered, and somehow you could hear her perfectly clearly, even through the veil of Alphys’ sobs. “Murder, death, killing. None of this had to happen. We had it all, Frisk. We were right there. You’d become the angel that would deliver us from this putrid world, and then -- “

She pointed that gun -- that impossible weapon she shouldn’t even be able to wield -- straight at your head. “And then you RESET everything! Why? _Why?_ Do you think there’s glory in this, Frisk? Salvation, redemption? Everything holy in this world is long dead! And _us?_ We’re just beasts in human skin, Frisk! Red, the color of blood, of violence -- it’s so fitting our souls are stained that abysmal color. We’re irrevocably seeped in sin and death! How can we -- how can _magi --_  possibly save this world when we are, at our core, irredeemably evil?”

The passion in her voice quieted, leveling out to soft despair. “It’s just like a biblical flood, you know? Destroy the sin and corruption, destroy all the misery in the world… but this time, we’ll bring everyone to the promised land. When did that lose its appeal to you?”

You should have said, _when I realized this world is worth helping, just how it is,_ but you didn’t. You were far, far too tired.

Chara stared at you in horror, mouth parted slightly. They had no idea; they hadn’t realized how much this compromise had meant to you. The moment you’d allowed yourself to consider killing the Cerebrum - that was the moment you’d lost your will to continue. Your gentle, tender heart couldn’t bear the weight of any more suffering. To put a knife in your hand again was to signal the death of your spirit.

They’d let it happen. They’d encouraged it. They’d thought it was the only way -- they thought that, maybe, maybe they could do themselves, since _Chara the Demon_ was a beast already. One more sin meant nothing to them. But for you, to let them do that?

...It was enough to kill your will to live.

Was this all really worth saving?

Maybe it was better to let the Cerebrum turn it all to dust --

“NO!” Chara screamed, their voice tearing through the air in a desperate plea. “You’ve made me think that this world is worth protecting! How dare you give up now!”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry…”

Uselessly, helplessly, Chara slammed their insubstantial fist into your chest. “NO! No, you promised! You promised we’d save everyone! You promised we could be heroes! You promised we’d find a way to help Asriel! YOU PROMISED WE’D BE HAPPY TOGETHER! Don’t leave, please, don’t leave me! I -- I -- FRIIIISK!”

The Cerebrum was quiet during this entire affair -- almost like she didn’t want to interrupt. But that would be silly, wouldn’t it? Chara was just a ghost… it was arguable, in some respects, that they were no more than a figment of your imagination.

The buttercup child trailed off into desperate sobs mixed with occasional pleas, and the Cerebrum finally turned away, looking at the scientist behind her with a cold expression. She was about to open her mouth to make another threat when she was rudely interrupted.

“GET AWAY FROM THOSE KIDS!”

It was sudden, it was swift, and it came as a surprise to literally everyone in the room - it wasn’t something that was supposed to happen, after all! - but finally, after so long, _somebody came._

A dagger glinted through the air, but even that paled in comparison to the brightly shining heart of the knight that had just arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are at all confused about who's narrating what, just remember -- if it's relevant, it'll be brought up, and Chara/Frisk sometimes switch off multiple times per paragraph. It's supposed to be kind of a confusing blend of perspectives!


	13. Call an Ambulance, Call 911 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn the depths of despair, but -- please, don't lose hope. If you do, in that moment, magic will well and truly be dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well it's time for me to start delivering on that horror tag. hold on kiddos! also, i decided to give TB a design since it limits me less with illustrations -- but please, feel free to headcanon them looking whatever way you want. I still intend to continue to not gender them, too - the design i have is meant to be able to go either way, physically.

A rustle of fabric, a thud of metal, and then -- “Papyrus!” This had become commonplace enough occurrence that, immediately, the man in question knew to look up.

“CRANE!” he exclaimed, reaching up to pluck his odd little friend out of the air. The motion was easy, practiced - for he did have a lot of practice catching her, after all! - and melded smoothly into an affectionate twirl before he looked down at her beaked mask. She was an oddly dressed girl, with her red hat, her white cape, and her complete and utter distaste for shoes. But, well -- odd fashion senses were something of a  _wizard_ thing. They had a penchant for the peculiar, after all.

Not that he minded. It was charming, really.

He was about to ask why she was visiting him at work -- not that she needed a reason, of course, he was always happy to see her! - when she sat up in his arms, put her red gloved hands on his face, and said, with an unusual amount of emotion, for her, “Papyrus, I need your help.”

Now, some people, when they are ambushed by their friends past midnight, ask perfectly reasonable questions like, _uh, can it wait?_ or _um, not illegal help, right?_ or _Jim this is the second time this month I’m not going to come bail you out of jail._ Papyrus, though…

Well, he wasn’t the sort to question his friends. “HOW CAN I HELP?”

“Drive me somewhere.  There’s trouble.” Her lips pursed slightly. “...An extraordinary amount of trouble.”

Papyrus’ expression grew more serious at her tone. That vague edge of fear wasn’t something he was used to in her normally even voice. “WAIT HERE. I’LL GO GET MY KEYS.” Lightly, he set her down, shifting her so that she was neatly on her feet - but before he could go, she gripped his arms, head tilted up so she was looking at him.

“You might need to fight, Papyrus, for me, and your friends. It’s going to be scary. Are you ready for that?”

“DON’T WORRY, CRANE, YOU CAN ALWAYS COUNT ON ME!” And then, like that, he was smiling - with pride, yes, self-assured determination that, perhaps, sometimes bordered on jovial arrogance. But, as he cheerfully smacked his chest, his hand paffing on the sparkly red vest that Mettaton had his workers dress in, he also looked… really reliable. “I’M THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AFTER ALL!”

“Okay,” she murmured, pulling her hands back and putting them over her heart. She knew it to be true. “Hurry.”

And, with that, he was running off, shiny leather shoes clicking on the pavement, and she couldn’t help but think that he was… really cool.

Really, really cool.

 

* * *

 

 

The seriousness of the situation really struck you when you found the Forest Witch’s corpse.

She looked like she was sleeping, at first, laid out on the floor of the throne room with her arms crossed across her chest. Buttercups twined around her body, blooming around her little frog wellingtons and gently cushioning her head. They nestled in her hair, they crawled up her skin, they grew from her cheeks, her forehead, her eyes and --

Wait.  

That was just a trick of the light, wasn’t it? Of the moonlight shimmering through the clerestories and the artificial flicker of your temperamental flashlight. In reality, she lay on cold stone engraved with the history of your damnation and your purpose for being alive. With quick, hurried steps, you approached her, hesitantly calling, “Witch of the Western Woods?”

Your breath caught when you finally smelled the blood. You ran, then, sliding a little on the stone as you clambered over to her. Desperately, you felt for her breath, for her pulse, but...

She was cold. She was so cold.

“Oh god,” you murmured. “Oh _god.”_

“Is she -- “ Gaster couldn't even finish, and you felt his hand on your back as he knelt beside you.

“Yeah,” you rasped, the sweet taste of iron filling your tongue. “They -- oh god. She must have come to investigate, like I -- like _I asked_. And. And they killed her.”

Suddenly, then, you really understood what you were fighting for, what you were fighting against, and what, in the end, you might have to do to succeed. And, of course, that evil beast inside of you was roaring, _I can help you, I can fix all your problems, give in, and you’ll never have to be afraid again. Just drink of her blood and eat of her flesh and everything will be alright._

Gaster’s arms tightened around you, and you finally realized he was speaking to you. “It’s not your fault. It’s not. You couldn’t have known. It is _not your fault._ ”

As sweet as him saying that was, it _super-freakin’-was_ … but you didn’t have time to indulge in self-hatred. After you briefly nudged Gaster with your nose to acknowledge him, you flicked the flashlight across the body, shuddering a bit when it illuminated those grisly wounds. “C-Crimmeny,” you murmured, trying to think. “Okay. Okay, let’s try to figure out anything we can.”

Of course you wanted to gather information. _You were such a filthy academic._

Gaster nodded, releasing you as he began to check over the corpse. “She must have died… an hour, two hours after we saw her. These wounds were inflicted while she was alive… the attacker was in front of her, and she was struggling, but the positioning probably means that -- Um -- ah, I need the light!”

“Hold up,” you interrupted, eyes wide. “Gaster, look around.”

You hadn’t noticed it at first, the moonlight being too thin and flimsy, but as your eyes had adjusted to the dark, you saw _it,_ bleeding out from the corpse in thin, even lines.

Letters. Sigils. You stood, shakily, flashlight flicking across the floor and up the walls, taking in the unholy scrawl. You could recognize words, phrases, symbols - but only in isolation. Altogether, the room had an unmistakably oppressive feeling, but you didn’t quite know its purpose.

What had this once holy place been turned into?

Glancing down, you noticed you’d walked directly across some of the markings, but they hadn’t smudged at all. A feeling of certainty bloomed in the pit of your stomach - this stuff wouldn’t come off easily.

The spell had been woven. It just needed to be activated.

“What is this?” He pushed himself to his feet, looking around carefully, like he expected something from the shadows to leap out at the pair of you at any moment.

It stank, something in the back of your mind kept reminding you. It stank, and your head pounded as a strange feeling crawled across your neck - and, suddenly, somehow, something clicked, and the letters all fell into vague arrangement for you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep your voice cool and even despite the weighty darkness. “This room is-- an incubator. No, more like…” Your fingers tensed on the flashlight, and you intimately felt the dark around you. “...An egg, waiting to hatch.”

You felt his arm around you, then, pulling you close as he kept his gaze on the ominous corners. “For what?”

You paused, glancing at him before looking down at the hand pressed against your stomach -- and… you couldn’t help but welcome the comfort. Hah, and you’d tried so hard to look strong, too. “Not sure,” you replied, flashlight creeping through the walls as you studied the marks. “Something to do with the Beast, I’m certain. Maybe trying to… create some sort of cursed artifact? Or -- no.”

Your flashlight flicked back to the body. There was a much simpler explanation. “Could be designed to give that body to the Beast using necromancy.”

“Or, perhaps... it could have something to do with her soul?” He suggested carefully, his arm tightening around you.

“...That -- “ you closed your eyes. “Is super-duper-ultra forbidden, but, so is Beast worship, so. I don't  _know_  if the Cerebrum did secret research involving that, but it wouldn't surprise me if she did."

Gaster made a soft, thrumming noise in the back of his throat. “That day you mentioned -- that ritual. What was the purpose? Could this person be trying to replicate it?”

“Nn.” You were intimately aware of how Gaster was brushing at your side with your thumb. It made you feel kinda weird. Good weird? Probably? Don’t think about it; there were more important matters to attend to. “The Cerebrum was obsessed with the idea that we could use the Beast to transcend our existence. I’ve mentioned that basically… wizards make dreams _real,_ right? It's sort of how our magic works?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So. The Beast turns our dreams into nightmares -- but it also gives us the power to make whatever we want _super real._ Like -- so real that there’s no chance the Grand Order will contradict it. A wizard who’s turned to nightmare can basically subvert reality in whatever way they want. And… I’ve talked about the ‘tiers’ of reality?”

“Yes… we discussed it when you said that she wanted to reach the afterlife.”

“Well, because nightmares subvert the Grand Order -- she thought, well, if we construct a Nightmare with a large enough scope, we could go through it into another… sort of reality, something that’s normally inaccessible to us, and then find our way to the afterlife.”

“I. Hmn. I think I understand. It’s like the idea of lucid dreaming, in a way -- if you’re aware you’re dreaming, you can do anything… so, if you make that dream _real_ , you can do things that normally wouldn’t be possible due to the laws of reality… or, as you call it, The Grand Order. But you can only do that through the power of the Beast. Am I following you?”

“Yes. The problem, though, is that we were overwhelmed, and we started to turn ourselves -- completely losing ourselves to the thirst for blood. Sort of a… chain is only as strong as the weakest link, thing? Er, anyway. If… they could, like… do some ritual to make a very, very powerful demon… that demon would, along with it, birth a very, very solid and _real_ nightmare, which could… I guess… be used to access the afterlife? I mean --”

You paused. “It could do a lot of weird things. In that hazy, different reality -- what we understand and know of “how things work” doesn’t apply at all. So you could possibly descend to a deeper… dream, as we call it, a different facet of existence that is completely untouchable from ‘reality’.”

He stared at you. “I suddenly understand why the idea of monsters studying souls was so terrifying.”

“Well -- keep in mind, that was in a time before the Beast. Everything has gotten so much worse, since then.” You breathed out. “...But even in those days, a magus with enough power could… theoretically alter fundamental truths about the world by constructing a powerful enough dream. And, if you had the power to edit the soul -- which it was prophesied you would _achieve -- “_

Gaster paused, squinting down at you. “Prophecy?”

Quickly, you covered your mouth, breath stilling in your throat. “Um. Forget. I said that.”

He opened his mouth to say something, when the two of you heard something -- strange. Distant shouting? Thundering footsteps? Without hesitation, Gaster put his hand over yours, finding the switch on the light and flicking it shut. Sudden panic overtook you, crawling at your skin like maggots, and you were frozen stiff as Gaster pulled you to a corner of the room, keeping you tight against his shadowy form. His hand found yours, holding it as you listened.

Peeling parsnips, you’d really choked, hadn’t you? And you still were, trying to keep hold of yourself in the dark. Without thinking about it, you squeezed his fingers tight - searching for comfort in the action.

_You’d be stronger if you accepted the blood._

(The most unsettling thing about it was that it was your voice, your thoughts. You wished it was like the books, where that devilish temptation sounded dark and sinister. You wish it had a voice of its _own._ You wished that it wasn’t _just you._ )

The shouting kept up, distant, desperate, too muffled for you to make out anything about it. The clattering of footsteps grew nearer, so close that you thought they’d break into the throne room and see you, there, hiding in the corner, but -- no, they kept going down the hall, huffing breaths accompanying a desperate scramble.

Strange. The feet sounded small -- like they belonged to a child.

You looked up at Gaster. He looked down at you. Not needing to say anything more, he pulled away and began creeping towards the door -- your hand still clasped in his.

 _Well,_ you thought, trying to keep your heart light. _I suppose this has turned into a sneaking mission._

It actually wasn’t too hard to follow the sound -- you’d been trained very well, after all, and you knew how to move stealthily, _especially_ in these halls. Still, you were progressing slower than them - they, who had absolutely no concern for silence, and who had a head start - so when the footsteps suddenly cut off, you found yourselves at a slight loss.

There were a lot of rooms in this section of the castle - empty storage areas, mostly, the armory had once been down here, along with the pantries and the rooms used for sewing and mending. You couldn’t tell exactly which room your quarry had gone into, although you knew it was somewhere close. After sharing a look, you and Gaster quietly began to make your search, poking into rooms and dipping through corridors.

The minutes ticked by, and that only heightened your highly alert state. They had to be somewhere around here, and the thought made your gut curl with nervousness. Getting to the bottom of all this was --

An overabundance of stimuli ground your thoughts to a halt. A sharp crack in the air, a strange, quaking reverberation that sounded like a firework going off and -- fuck being sneaky, you thought, breaking from Gaster and sprinting into the room you thought you heard it come from. It was a couple of doors ahead, and, as you turned -- you saw a hatch opened into the ground, leading into the basement, one that would have been extremely easy to miss in the dark.

Desperately, Gaster tried to catch you, to slow you, but you slipped from his fingertips, making it to the opening in two quick, quiet bounds. There was a staircase down, and you went down sideways, stepping with your feet parallel to the square cut of the steps. It was quieter, like this -- although, your approach was somewhat concealed by the sound of yelling down the hall, spilling out from a room ahead along with bright, electric lighting.

“-- you RESET everything! Why? Why? Do you think there’s glory in this, Frisk? Salvation, redemption?”

That voice momentarily stopped you cold, once you realized who it belonged to. And how could you not? How could you not recognize _her_ , despite the impossibility, the improbability, despite the fact that _she was dead?_

(How could you not recognize her, when you’d spent so long speaking with her? Working with her, laughing with her, listening to her elaborately detail her passionate ideas -- )

She sounded just the same as she did back then.

“Everything holy in this world is long dead! And us? We’re just beasts in human skin, Frisk! Red, the color of blood, of violence -- it’s so fitting our souls are stained that abysmal color. We’re irrevocably seeped in sin and death! How can we -- how can magi --  possibly save this world when we are, at our core, irredeemably evil?”

Somehow, you kept going to the light, your head feeling hazy, empty. How? Were you dreaming? Were you hallucinating? Were you --

Gaster caught you, then, wrapping his arms around your stomach to keep you still. You looked back and, upon seeing the panic on his face, and knew that you had to get hold of yourself. You couldn’t let him see you scared. You couldn’t let him know who was in that room. You had to be cool for him, and you signed [WE LOOK] before pointing at the door.

Quickly, he shook his head, withdrawing a hand to spell out, [G-U-N!]

You squinted. [WHAT?]

He made a few motions that you interpreted as, [YOU’LL BE SHOT!]

Twisting yourself, you pressed your back flat against the wall, peering around the doorway into the light, and you couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. He was right.

The Cerebrum had a gun.

(Could she actually use it? ...What you'd heard before offered a very, very grim  _yes.)_

“It’s just like a biblical flood, you know? Destroy the sin and corruption, destroy all the misery in the world… but this time, we’ll bring everyone to the promised land. When did that lose its appeal to you?”

You’d only ever heard her sound like that once - that quiet despair, that muted anguish. Her hair was longer, now -- and, somehow, seemed an even brighter blonde, although you thought that might just be a trick of the fiercely electric light. That strange, unsettling weapon was clasped in her hand -- and pointed down at a child lying prone before her, their brown hair splayed in a flat wave against the floor. 

And -- your eyes, your eyes hurt, your head hurt, everything hurt, but you ignored the intense burn, knowing that you couldn’t let Gaster see. There was another child there, dressed in green and yellow, making a desperate plea that tore your heart to ribbons. “NO! You’ve made me think that this world is worth protecting! How dare you give up now!”  
  
There was a man, there, in the background, near a short, yellow monster who seemed to be trying her best not to absolutely collapse on the spot as she stared at the scene. His mouth was drawn tight, and - in the spot between them - you could see something hovering there, in a tube connected to the bizarre machinery lining the room. It was a bright soul, a red soul -- and it was practically overflowing with glittering, crystalline light.

What the heck?

Gaster caught your attention again, pulling you back away from the doorway. [I KNOW THAT MONSTER], he signed quickly, illuminated by the residual light from the room. [A-L-P-H-Y-S. I KNOW HER.]

Your mouth formed into a little ‘o’. Then, without question -- you returned, [OK, I’LL SAVE HER.]

[NO!] His fingers tapped together in a firm denial. [YOU’LL BE SHOT, AND I CAN’T HELP! SHE’LL RECOGNIZE ME!]

You stared up at him, your face firming up into steadfast determination as the desperate cries of a child split the air behind you. How could you ignore that? How could you ever possibly ignore that? And so, you prepared yourself -- in your heart, you reached out to that steely, steadfast determination as you drew your knife. The hilt felt strange in your hand, and yet -- also like it was exactly where it belonged.

[STAY], you signed at him firmly with one hand, nothing in your posture or expression allowing any argument. And -- he hesitated, slightly, confusion spreading across his face.

He started to sign something at you -- you caught the word [EYES] -- but you were already turning, leaping into the room with a ripple of cloth. You had to redeem yourself, after all. You had to be a hero.

“GET AWAY FROM THOSE KIDS!”

You felt the blade sink deep, and the shock of thick, pungent blood struck you so suddenly that you thought you were going to lose yourself right there. You stumbled back, the blade withdrawing with a heavy, wet _schlick,_ and you heard a mighty clatter of furniture as that large, dark-haired man burst forward, vaulting over the table to get to you.

The punch came hard, fast, merciless -- and you ducked, slipping under his arm and to the side as he tried to ram his knee into your chest. “Stand down!” You shouted, staying your blade and slipping out of his range as he tried to grab onto your arm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“A--Aegis?” You heard her voice crack with pain, one hand on her bloody side, the other still holding tightly onto that weapon. “Bear, do as they say!”

The man -- Bear, you presumed -- stepped back, falling into a protective, brawling stance at the Cerebrum's order. Probably a street fighter or something, he looked like the kind of guy who’d make it in a brawling pit. You kept your knife extended; you weren’t in a bad position, at the moment -- you’d injured one person, the other seemed easily within your capabilities to handle... plus, you’d maneuvered yourself so you were a bit closer to your true goal -- that soul. The Forest Witch’s soul.

Your main worry, at the moment, was the gun -- but, to be honest, she’d have to land a killing blow to be able to stop you. That was just the sort of person you were.

That name -- Aegis -- it _really did_ fit you, back in the day.

“I don’t want to hurt either of you, but I will if I must. Cease whatever you are doing here, or I’ll be forced to take further action.” You tried to sound like her, then, how she'd talked while she was working. Calm, cool, formal, courtly -- _knightly._ You’d always wanted to be exactly like Fee.

(And you tried to ignore that well of emotions that sprang up, and that question that hung on the tip of your tongue. _Had it all been a lie? Your friendship? Your mentorship? Your…?)_

“Aegis -- ahhh, no, It’s Two-Bit now, isn’t it? What an awful name.” She took a shuddering breath, pointing the gun at you. “Get out. Now. You don’t have to be involved in any of this.”

You firmed your mouth. “We’re at an impasse, then, it seems. I couldn’t possibly do that.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something. It was -- Alphys. She seemed to be moving very, _very_ slowly towards the machine with the soul suspended in it, creeping as subtly as she could.

Was she trying to help you?

Given how she was trying to obscure her movements, you could only imagine that was the case. Well. You’d aid her in what way you could, then. The Cerebrum didn’t seem at her best, regardless - perhaps you could distract her.

“...This is _your_ fault,” she hissed, looking down at the children on the floor. “I suppose your inelegant fuckery did _something._ ”

“What do you mean?” You asked. The uninjured child in green stared at you, bright red gaze seemingly transfixed by your presence. You only spared them a quick glance before returning your attention to the dangerous parties in the room.

Bear was clearly antsy, but holding fast at the Cerebrum’s command. Interesting, why had she called him off you? That bit you really didn't understand.

“...It doesn’t matter, Aegis,” the Cerebrum said, mouth thin and serious. “If you le-- wait. Wait. Did you say -- _kids?_ ”

“Uh.” Okay, that threw you for a loop. “Yes?”

You registered a look of confusion on Bear’s face as he glanced over at the injured child -- Frisk. (Wait. Wait. Was this _that_ Frisk, ambassador of the monsters? Crud, you could _already smell the brewing political nightmare --!!_ )

“As in, plural,” she said carefully, forcing herself to stand up straighter. “Two children. You see two?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Okay, you were hoping Alphys was doing something in the background, now, because the three of you were _super distracted._ Your gaze flicked back to the children -- and it hit you, then, with a vibrantly yellow flash of pain. You understood why it was odd, you understood what she was trying to say - for that child, sitting there, hands clasped over their mouth in horror, was dead.

How did you not immediately see it? Their face was a graveyard of flowers, yellow blossoms twining against their skin. Their thin presence, the way the light shifted uneasily around them... how did you not recognize them for what they were at a single glance?

You felt something in the air - a thick miasma, a thick fog obscuring something from view. It choked you as the flowers bloomed.

“It’s too late for you.” Across from you, the Cerebrum took off those shaded lenses of hers, pocketing them with a blood-soaked hand. You saw her eyes, bright and gleaming - an inhumanly acid-green color that nature would never put on the face of man. “I was a fool, for wanting you to understand. For that, I'm sorry.”

You felt -- dizzy. Everything felt different, not quite real - like the carpet on your bare feet, like the thick, palpable sorrow teeming on your skin like thick, murky pond water. It stank, like moss, like fungus, like something rotting and dead,  and yet -- you could see the gleam of yellow flowers, shimmering like sunlight all around the room.

“You should never have had to see,” you heard her say as she leveled the gun at your chest, and then --

“Ma’am!” Bear shouted, tearing across the room as the glass capsule holding the soul opened with a _shhnnk_. There was a bright flash of light as Alphys grasped it with clawed digits, and then -- with all the might she had in her stubby little lizard arms -- she dashed it into the ground, trying to shatter the product of her wretched work.

Sadly for her... the scientist was far, far too good at what she did, and it refused to break completely. It did, however, crack -- and, from that thin distortion, a thick, red gelatin seeped out, glowing like molten lava. A second later, the man was there -- kicking her away with a single, well-delivered blow. Alphys had never been a fighter, _never_ \-- she slammed against the wall, a strangled, choking sound forced from her chest.

“Stand _down_ , Bear!” Book growled, hair gleaming in the light - pale and royal, blooming like daffodils in the spring. It was a stark contrast to the seeping dark that crawled up her arm from her bloody, clawed palm. She was so far gone, you realized then, something truly evil had taken over her heart, and it stared at you from eyes set into her skin like milky, pale stones. “ _You’re not allowed to hurt anyone!”_

Why couldn’t you have seen it, back then? How long had that been poisoning her heart?

She leapt for the soul, the vibrating, pulsating abomination, and you knew you could never let her have it. You sprinted, grabbing at her body and _tearing,_ heaving her away with a mighty shove. Dropping to one knee, you pushed yourself forward with the ball of your foot, grasping the soul with your fingers and bringing it to your chest. You rolled out of the anticipated attack -- but you weren’t quite quick enough.

Bullets were pretty fast, after all. That realization struck you as you stood, a red lotus spreading from your stomach.

But it didn’t matter. You could take it. You were _Aegis,_ after all, _Aegis of the Falling Star,_ and you could endure all manner of abuse, body and soul. And you didn’t care at all as you ran -- because that’s all you needed to do, get her to chase you. Lead her away - and then it would be you and Gaster versus her, and you could do those odds _easily,_ particularly when you weren’t worried about Frisk and Alphys as causalities.

Then, you could get Frisk some help -- the flowers hadn’t taken them, yet, and their dead friend was still at their side, begging them to get up as you ran.

You could do this.

You could make up for you mistakes.

You could win! -- you thought, even as Book shot you again, snarling, “Fuck, I forgot how _tenacious_ you were -- “

And then, it all fell apart with a single word. Goodness, you almost didn’t recognize it, at first, it’d been so long since you’d heard anyone use it. But your heart knew, and your legs knew, and your arms knew the sound of your name… your _real_ name, your _birth_ name, the name that made you feel, once more, like a little child dying in a car wreck.

Book stated your name, coldly and clearly, and followed it with an order. “Get on your knees!”

 _How did she know?_ you mused desperately, powerless to do anything but obey. Blood splattered on the reflective stone as you gasped desperately for air. It was like a mirror, you thought to yourself, as the soul slipped from your fingertips and rolled onto the floor. What a pretty sound, like gems, or bells.

You saw your reflection, framed by your hands -- and, huh.

Since when were your eyes gold? You looked like some cartoon character, or something. And -- and with a stupid, bubbling laugh, you watched Book come up behind you, pointing that stupid cheating weapon right at your head, and you realized how stupid of a last thought that was. So, you said something else.

“Why?” You were crying now, probably. How gross. “Why, Book? Why? Was it a lie? All of it? Did you ever like us? Were we ever your friends?”

Her finger found the trigger in that reflection, and you could see that dark, evil _thing_ creep out of the wound you inflicted on her, buzzing like flies from rotting meat. And -- in a final sob, you cried out, “ _Fee loved you! I thought you loved her, too!”_

Perhaps if you’d been in better shape, you would have been able to take advantage of the effect those words had on her. The hesitation, that twist of her mouth -- the way she tried to bite down on it, bite down on her own traitorous expression -- but you didn’t even see it. Your eyes were closed, tears dribbling down your cheeks.

There was, however, someone else who was perfectly willing to capitalize on her distraction -- and at this point, he didn’t give a flying _fuck_ if this ended up killing him, or sending him to the void, or whatever _stupid fucking consequences_ this might have. He didn’t care about living, he didn’t care about having a happy life.

Because, watching this, he had come to one, singular conclusion.

Gaster was going to make sure you survived this, no matter what it might cost him.

A single burst of bright, glacial blue light filled the room, emanating from the jaws of a strange, skeletal head floating beside him. “Get _wrecked,"_ Gaster snarled as he brought down judgement and the wrath of the angels.

You looked up at him, framed by the doorway, his eyes dark and his hand stretched out. Shadow flickered across his body, curling and twisting in angry, jagged strikes, forming a tailcoat made of darkness. He'd pulled his form together, his shoes gleaming in the electric light, and -- man, he looked cool.

But, as you felt something crack in your chest, you really, really wished he hadn’t done that, as you just realized something very important.

You really should have wondered more about how you’d dragged Gaster back into existence. Or, rather --

What the consequences were for you.

“MA’AM!” A scream pierced the air as your world fell into grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you need something to cheer you up after all this, i have some TB/Gaster/Grillby smut up
> 
> gets sad in bits but it's overall very cute


	14. Tell Me More About the Longest Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some body horror in this, eye horror (nothing like eye injuries tho!!) and general freaky stuff. No detailed descriptions of gore tho!

A long time ago - or, not so long, depending on your particular perspective on things - a young man sat at a bedside, hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened to what very might well be his teacher’s final words.

“Arithmos,” he said softly, his voice run ragged with illness. He was old, and his life was well lived, but neither of those things made this moment easier to bear. “Do you feel ready to become the next Primus?”

That young man - that well-dressed, reedy twenty-two year old man, with his austere black bowtie and his finely cut waistcoat - opened his mouth to say _yes_ , but the heavy weight of _no_ lodged itself in his throat and silenced him.

The Primus laughed, a weak sound like the last pittering drops of a storm. “Good, good. That’s the right answer.” He folded his hands - thin, brittle, with finely cut veins trailing across his skin. “If you didn’t have any doubts, I’d be worried. It is a heavy burden to surrender your identity for the good of the domain."

“It’s not that,” Arithmos began, his knuckles shining stark and white. “I don’t know if I can do this alone. I’m too young, I’m not ready; what if I mess up?”

"You won’t be alone. Grizzly’s still strong and kickin’ - the coot! - and you’ve got the rest of the Inquisition at your side. You’ll be fine.”

Arithmos sighed. Despite that, he still couldn’t quite shake the feeling of _youth,_ of _inexperience,_ of… being a shoddy replacement. Because -- in the end -- that’s what he was, wasn’t he? He was _never_ supposed to have been in line for this position, and yet…

“Oh, get that sullen look off your face, boy,” the Primus scolded, withered mouth pulled into a scowl. He summoned the energy to wave dismissively, so offended was he by Arithmos’ obvious worries. “I’m sorry I’m leaving you so soon, but you’ve turned into a good lad. Smart, capable, practical, good with numbers… everything those idiot dreamers need in a leader.”

There was a breathy, wheezing pause, and the Primus closed his eyes. The silence grew so prolonged that Arithmos felt the need to lean forward, his heart hammering in his chest. “P-Primus?”

A wet, somewhat vile cough emerged from his throat. “Oh, stop fretting, I’m not dead yet,” he grumbled, but his attempts at a sharp, acerbic tone were undermined by his inability to raise his voice. “Listen close. I have something important to say.”

Arithmos waited as the Primus composed himself, the breath in his chest stilled from fear and sorrow. He swallowed it, keeping it down, keeping it restrained - and keeping his expression calm and neutral. To him, that was strength.

“Above all else, Arithmos…” he paused, wetting his dry lips. “Remember, that your duty is to protect the tender hearts of the magi. The world will scorn them, the world has cursed them… but they are precious, and your solemn oath is to keep them safe. Do you understand?”

That young man desperately swallowed his tears and offered a quick nod. He wouldn’t let the Primus see him cry, not now. Not… ever again. “I do.”

“Good. Their hopes… their dreams… protect them, for the world will not.”

With a final, wispy breath, that last command was imparted to a boy who'd taken the entire world onto his shoulders. There was silence after that - true silence - and, for a long while, he sat alone in that solemn room, plagued by worries and unspoken doubts. But that ended, as all things must, and the chair creaked mildly as the Primus rose to forever leave his teacher behind.

 

* * *

 

“...Huh,” the Cerebrum said, examining the remains of her right shoulder. “Well, that explains a lot.”

Doctor W. D. Gaster had to stop at that, the wind a bit taken out of his sails at her utter nonchalance. The blaster hummed beside him, still warm and glowing, and she didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, despite the fact that he’d _blown off her arm._ No pain, no screaming, no crying - and not an ounce of fear as she regarded him with that perpetually fierce little smile. Blood seeped down her side, striking the floor in thick, heavy drops as it oozed from her decimated shoulder but - actually, wasn’t it weird how little of it there was? There was an artery in the shoulder, and…

The lights began to flicker.

Not particularly having the luxury of time, Gaster composed himself, his face severe in the harsh light. “ - You will cease your activities immediately, or I will _destroy you_ , do I make myself clear?”

That man - Bear - rushed to the Cerebrum’s side, his expression of clear and apparent horror a stark contrast to her warm, calm smile. She held up her remaining hand, indicating with a small gesture that he shouldn’t intervene, and his concession was placing his hand on her non-injured shoulder as he glared Gaster down. “Perfectly. Although - at this rate, you’ll kill Aegis if you keep using your magic.”

Truth or lie, it was enough to make him look down at you. “What do you - "

He paused, his terrified silence punctuated by the electric buzz of failing lights.

There you were, on your knees - and gasping, clutching at your heart with bloodstained hands. Blood dripped onto the floor with a wet, ugly splatter, and he watched in horror as you shakily withdrew your palm from your chest and, with it, brought your soul into view. It was - once, he was certain, it had been red, but the color had completely bled out of it now, leaving it dull and grey like dust lining the edges of a poorly kept funeral parlor. Cracks lanced through it - splintering, spidery lines - and Gaster knew it was crumbling to pieces.

Alphys was staring at him from her curled-up lump in the corner, and the look on her face was of complete, uncomprehending disbelief. She was petrified by it, frozen by it, captivated by the inability to accept what was in front of her.

Something began to seep from the Cerebrum’s injury, something that just felt inherently  _filthy,_ inherently  _unclean,_ like coal or yellowed paper smudged with ash. Gaster could smell it in the air, a vaguely… ozone-like scent that he recognized from the time of the accidents. Before that shadow claimed his staff - hiding, stalking, taking - he’d experienced something very much like this.

Was this what you were speaking of, before? The nightmare of a magus, the Beast?

The Cerebrum just kept cheerfully talking, providing a casual monologue over the entire situation. “Not that I blame you or anything, it’s a _damned if you do damned if you don’t_ situation, but it would be really ironic if it was the stress that _you_ put on their soul that killed them. Did you ever think about whose authority allowed you to remain in this world? It certainly wasn’t the world itself’s command… It’s denied you, after all. You’re a nonexistent entity.”

“...Aegis has an incredibly durable soul, and they tried so hard to preserve your existence… but I guess even they have their limits.” She gestured to her student before her - but it was with a limb made of eyes and teeth and thick fur matted with a dark, oozing bile. Her fingers were clawed, inhuman - a vicious testament to how far she’d fallen. When the body was hurt, when the soul was ruined and scarred, the Beast pooled in to fill up the cracks; she was a living testament to this fact. “Actually, I’m kind of mad at you. _In no other timeline were they ever involved in all this.”_

That was it - her final blow, securing her victory. The Cerebrum knew exactly what to say to emotionally obliterate someone; that was the power of someone whose eyes could always distinguish the hidden truth.

The grin widened as Gaster sunk to his knees, unable to properly keep his form as the blaster beside him dissipated. His clothing, his legs - even his face - they started to melt as he reached out for your shoulder. Your teeth were gritted, sweat poured down your forehead… and you pushed your soul into your chest like you were trying desperately to keep hold of it. Doctor W. D. Gaster could do nothing but stare, his hands shaking as his thoughts turned to tar.

“It’s funny,” she murmured, bending down to pick up the discarded soul of the Forest Witch and, along with it, the gun she’d lost when Gaster had disarmed her. “Never before have you been closer to _the truth_ that you so desperately sought, and yet - do to your own actions! - it’s all about to fade. How miserable!” The room grew darker as one of the long bulbs burned out with a pop. Silent green eyes watched from the walls - unblinking, unceasing - and the Cerebrum stood, a red glow spilling over her body.

She stopped suddenly, her gaze flitting to the ceiling. The breath caught in her throat, and it was obvious that something had gone off script. “What the fuck,” she murmured, the odd static of her voice further punctuating her descent into inhumanity. “Are _they_ doing here?”

Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed onto Bear, heaving him along with her as she ran to the wall and, in a screech of static, phased through without care or consideration for the natural rules of the world. She didn’t have to, at this point - this was her dream, and reality itself was a slave to her unconquerable ambition.

The room was quiet, still - caught in a state of fixed inaction as if any disturbance would shatter the momentary peace. Gaster couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even touch you in his petrifying guilt. And you, you were struck still as Alphys couldn’t tear her eyes away from Gaster - her heart torn between recognition and denial, because _how could he, this couldn’t be, that person - why did she know him, she shouldn’t know him, couldn’t know him, he_ \--

It was Frisk who moved, first, groaning in pain as they slowly pushed themselves up. (It wasn’t the first time they’d had to kept moving even when it _hurt._ ) Immediately, Alphys’ attention was torn away, and she shoved herself away from the wall in her scramble to reach the friend she'd tried to save.

(Very, very slowly, Gaster moved you, cushioning you with his lap as he stared at you and your injuries.)

“Oh, oh s-sweetie… Sweetie, duh-don’t, don’t move, you…” she pulled Frisk towards her, letting them slump against her shoulders for support. “We, we’ll, we, I-I’m here, you don’t have to move, e-everything will be okay, where’s, where’s your phone, I’ll call an ambulance -- “

Frisk shook their head, taking in a shuddering breath. [Need to get upstairs,] they signed, sparing a glance at you and Gaster. This was a mistake - and Frisk regretted it immediately - because Alphys followed their gaze, causing another wrenching shock of pain to pass through your body. With a quick, firm motion, they pushed on her face so she was looking back at them. [Please, I need your help. Undyne and mom are outside, and we need to get to them. Ok?]

“F-Frisk, you’ve -- you’ve been _hurt,_ you --”

[Trust me,] Frisk signed simply, even as they fought to control the quivering of their mouth. [Please.]

Looking at Frisk, Alphys knew one thing above all others - there was absolutely no way that she would convince them of any other path than the one they’d decided on. They had always been that sort of child.

That was what allowed the monsters to leave the darkness below.

“Wuh -- what about, about…” Once more, she made to look at you and Gaster, but Frisk caught her face, shaking their head.

(He called your name - softly, repeatedly - but you couldn’t even open your eyes.)

[We’ll get them help. Don’t worry about it, please,] Frisk signed urgently. [We need to focus on getting to Undyne.]

“Okay,” she mumbled, swallowing the confusion, the fear, and faint scraps of memory that should - in a normal world - have never been brought back to the surface. “Okay, okay, c-c’mon, let’s… i-it wuh-won’t be far, we’ll, we’ll, oh goodness, I’m so guh-glad Undyne is here, oh, easy, sweetheart, easy…”

Frisk leaned against her heavily, using her for support as they began to walk. Alphys had to physically restrain herself from looking back, her shoulders shuddering a bit with the effort, but Frisk cast a glance backwards, catching Gaster’s hollow, desperate gaze as he cradled your form in his arms.

“Thank you,” they said, voice small, weak, but undeniably sincere. Their expression was cut sharply with determination. “Don’t give up.”

And, with that, they left -- and the departure of Alphys seemed to help you, because you finally opened your eyes, your golden gaze unfocused. “Gaster…” you mumbled, your fingers twitching slightly. “I messed up.”

 

* * *

 

The Primus was in a particularly foul mood that evening. He was, as he put it, _far too old for this bullshit,_ and after having run all the way to Castle Spaghorde, he was confronted by a particularly stressful scene - that is, a fucking barrier, a motley of monsters, and an immediately noticeable lack of the object of their pursuit, Frisk. 

Without question or hesitation, the Primus tromped his way up to the gathering, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Oi!” he shouted, without preamble. “What the fuck is -- “

He paused as _Queen Toriel right she’s here you were following her what the heck is your problem, idiot_ turned to face him, and he ahemed, trying his best to compose himself when he was the picture of a panting tomato. “ - What’s happening, here?”

(Ugh, he could practically _feel_ Legbiter smirking next to him.)

“Primus! Inqusitior!” the Queen broke away from the other two, approaching the pair. Behind her, Undyne hadn’t let up trying to brute-force the barrier while the short skeleton watched, and she didn’t seem inclined to stop at any point in the future. “What are you doing here?”

 _We were stalking you,_ wasn’t an acceptable reply, so the Primus was very glad when Inquisitor Legbiter smoothly stepped in. “We became aware of some trouble, your majesty, and came as quickly as we could. Why are you here?”

“Someone has taken Doctor Alphys from us by force, and we have been… _informed_ that she was taken here. We do not know why, but my child, Frisk, passed through the barrier and went on ahead of us… and now we cannot get through.”

“Doctor _Alphys?_ The Royal Scientist?” Immediately, the Primus prickled -- not at Queen Toriel, mind, but the very _idea_ of her involvement. “I’ll see to it, then. Your majesty -- you need not worry any more about this. We’ll retrieve Doctor Alphys and your child; clearly,” he grumbled, sparing a withering glare at the barrier. “This is is a problem that _we_ have caused you.”

If this were less polite company, he would have added that he intended to strangle whatever _fuckwit_ was in there, but, well. Queen. Manners.

“My apologies, but my child is in there, along with the Captain of the Royal Guard’s... _very dear_ companion. We could not possibly leave this matter be.” Her voice was polite-yet-firm, the unbrokering tone of royalty… or, perhaps simply that of a mother. In the end, they're often one and the same.

“...Very well,” the Primus replied, holding his hand out to the Inquisitor - who responded immediately, reaching under his poncho and retrieving pair of brass knuckles which were passed over without comment. He threaded his fingers through the holes, adjusting his grip on them, and then stalked over to the edge of the barrier. “Oi! Quit making that racket, for a moment.”

For the first time, Undyne acknowledged him, slanting her eyes over to him suspiciously as her spears briefly halted in the air. “...You’re that monster segregation advocate,” she hissed, baring her teeth and spinning to fully face him. With a casual gesture, Legbiter stepped halfway inbetween them - not enough to block their confrontation, but simply… there. Present.

Not quite as relaxed as he appeared on the surface.

The Primus glared and was about to reply until Toriel stepped in. " _Undyne,_ now is not time. Primus - you can aid us in passing through this barrier?”

Laying his right hand flat against the barrier, he grumbled slightly to himself, peering closely at the shimmering surface underneath his hand. Then - with a self-satisfied nod - he began rummaging around in his pocket. “I’ll do you one better,” he replied, before dripping the contents of the small, plastic squeeze bottle over the oddly out-of-place metal gripped in his hand. “I am the master of barriers, after all.”

He pulled back, then slammed the now lavender-scented brass spikes into the barrier, and - immediately- cracks splintered out from the point of impact, travelling across it like the rumbling of an earthquake. The process was bookended by two sounds - the initial impact, and the chiming shatter as the barrier fell away in tiny fragments, dissipating into the air like flakes of rice paper. The Primus exhaled, shaking out his hand -- but he didn’t have long to relax, because without hesitation, Undyne charged forward, snarling.

“Hey!” He growled, trying to catch her -- but she was far, far too quick for him, already several feet out of his reach. The Inquisitor was after her in a flash, but not to retrieve her; as soon as the barrier had been torn down, he’d felt it too, that crawling, malignant intent beckoning him forward. The Hound of the Inquisition smelled a dream in that castle, a stinking, fetid thing that curled his lips up into a snarl, and there was little that anyone could do to stop him.

“Those hotheaded -- !!” The Primus huffed, keeping pace with Toriel as he hurried along after them. “Your majesty, please be careful. This is -- hate and malice is fatal to your kind, and this place is dripping with it.”

“Do not concern yourself, however - Sans!” She turned, suddenly, looking back at the silent skeleton who had been plodding along behind them. There was no urgency to his posture or expression, as if his role was merely one of observation behind a solid pane of glass. “Please, it would be best for you to stay behind.”

“i’ll stay near the back. i'm gonna help you find them, at least,” he said, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. (Who wore a jacket in July?)

Toriel paused, and then - knowing there wasn’t really time to discuss this - she turned and started sprinting towards the castle.

Even the monsters, who had never once set foot in that once-holy place could tell that something was amiss. The architecture didn’t make sense anymore, as passing through the great doors of the main hall only lead to a staggering view of the sky - of a pure, dark night, and a midnight abyss smattered with stars as bright as white flowers. Around them grew a forest of brambles, twisted, ugly things woven together in thick, impassible walls that occasionally gave way to form dark, twisting corridors.

A great, dead tree towered ahead, its barren bark and limbs coated with some sort of strange ivy. It was this that Legbiter sprinted towards, his footsteps crackling across the withered grass, and Undyne kept pace with him. Both of them could feel it.

Their opponent was ahead.

“What -- what on _earth --_ “ Toriel gasped, looking around the impossible scene.

“Demon,” the Primus gruffly explained, looking up at the silhouette of the massive elder tree. “Vicious beasts that twist reality to their whims.”

Toriel forced herself to run faster.

At the edge of the clearing, the Inquisitor reached out, grabbing Undyne’s arm and hauling her backwards. “What are you _\- ”_ she snarled, fangs bared at him, and he didn’t loosen his grip in the the slightest, placing a single finger over his lips. His dark eyes glinted with a severe seriousness that conveyed both familiarity and a warning. This was what had once been the throne room, and where the king had once sat grew an unholy, dead tree. Even at this distance, it was easy to see the roses, a million or more pure, white blossoms bursting from the darkness like maggots crawling from a corpse. They ate at it, like a fungus, like a parasite, and a thick smell of death permeated the air.

The Cerebrum was easily discernible against the dark backdrop due to the paleness of her hair, and she turned at the sound of their approach, all of her countless eyes focused on the gathering group on the path behind her - or, more particularly, the Primus. “Don’t you have children to kill?” she asked, her facetious tone carrying easily despite the distance.

Or perhaps it was more like distance wasn’t even a factor for her at all. 

Undyne and Toriel wore equal expressions of confusion - though, perhaps, ones mixed with vague guilt - and Legbiter tensed, his sword drawn in a smooth motion. His style of blade was known as a gaddhajlit - a viking sword, and he clenched the leather hilt with a particularly tight grip. The only one to not react was the one for whom the comment was most meant to hurt and, with apparent calmness, the Primus’ gaze flicked from the dead body of the Forest Witch to the Cerebrum standing there in all of her terrible monstrosity. It was immediately clear what she had become. “What are you trying to accomplish with this?”

“The end of the world,” she said, turning back to the trunk of the tree. The man next to her - silent, unobtrusive, rather like a mere bystander - kept his hand on her unsullied shoulder. “And, now that Frisk is dead, there’s nothing any of you can do to stop me.”

Even that hadn’t been said for her own benefit - the Cerebrum wasn’t the sort of woman to gloat without purpose. No, with that simple sentence, she whipped the Captain of the Royal Guard into an absolute fury, causing her to break free of Legbiter’s grip with a sudden burst of strength. “WHAT THE _FUCK_ DID YOU DO WITH FRISK?” she screamed, charging forward, and -

\- like a landmine -

The ground exploded before her.

Legbiter was, luckily, prepared for something like this, and so without hesitation, he snatched at her, heaving her back with a mighty gesture. It was just enough to keep her from being swallowed by the maelstrom of vines that erupted from the ground - spined, thorned protrusions that reached desperately, trying to wrap around anything living and drain it dry. A pungent smell of roses filled the rotten air, emanating from the dark creature that had risen up from the rumbling earth - a shadowy, long-limbed thing with a head like the skull of a stag, great and horned, with curling antlers protruding from its skull. Beads, shells, and carved bone dangled from its tattered clothing, and white flowers twined themselves through its eyes and around its great, jagged teeth.

And - on its breast - was a soul. Red, terrible, with a bubbling crack carved into its surface. This was what had become of the Forest Witch, and it breathed out death, an enormous being that drowning the air in thick, heavy perfume.

“Holy shit,” Undyne breathed as the tendrils pulled back, curling around the beast and the knotty branches of its legs. “Holy shit.”

Legbiter let go of Undyne, and the pair shared a brief look whose intricacies could be fully summed up in one sentence.

_Let’s go kick its ass._

“Go find Alphys and Frisk!” Legbiter shouted to the Primus, charging forward in time with Undyne.

“We’ll take care of this!” Undyne finished, a flurry of spears springing to life at her command.

The Cerebrum smiled, and then she was gone - melding into the shadow of the tree with Bear at her side - as he would be, eternally.

 

* * *

 

Toriel, the Primus, and - for some strange reason, _Sans_ \- ran through the halls, searching for any sign or signifier of Frisk’s presence. The nightmare had bled through the entire castle, filling it with tangled masses of white flowers and open, waiting maws of bone. The danger here wasn’t limited to the demon in the throne room - for its influence, its _consciousness_ split off and spread, forming beings with no identity beside a desire to hurt.

Familiars, the Primus had explained after Toriel had eliminated the first small, writhing deer-faced monstrosity they’d encountered. _That’s why we have to retrieve them - and quickly._

 _we’ll find them, tori,_ Sans had said, returning after quickly checking a room. _just gotta branch out a bit._

That had gotten a sad, miserable little snort.

It was Alphys’ scream that helped them find their way - along with the sound of breaking glass. They rounded the corner and saw it - saw _them_ , Alphys, who had somehow gotten her hands on some empty bottles, which she was trying to aim and throw at the creature cornering them. It was clearly difficult, due to the shakiness of her arms and the tears that were brimming in her eyes, but she stood fast against it - against its teeth, and its thorns, and the sharp hunch of its back as it prepared to spring.

She was scared. She was weak. But she was damn well going to protect the injured child at her side as best as she could, because -- because it was so much more than being a “part of their story” now, so much more than accompanying them on their journey and getting the chance to be a _part_ of something, some grand adventure that she thought she’d only see in cartoons.

It was about Frisk, about keeping them safe, and how _dare_ anything touch them, how _dare_ they! How dare anything, _anyone_ hurt them!

(Alphys had, perhaps, developed some motherly instincts over her time of knowing the monster ambassador.)

Of course, her efforts were completely ineffectual - Alphys couldn’t fight, had never been able to fight - but, luckily, she didn’t have to.

The construct of vines and hate was consumed by a fierce, flaring inferno, and - in a matter of seconds - it was burned to ash. The skull remained, still shuddering and snapping like a wolf that could bite even with its head cut off, but the Queen approached in a quick motion, her foot slamming down on the bone and splintering it.

(Sans winced.)

“Frisk! Alphys! -- _Frisk!_ ” Her voice had drawn high and taut as soon as she saw the state of her child - bleeding, ashen faced, and looking like they were on the verge of collapse.

Alphys put her arms back around Frisk, supporting them as they slumped. “Tuh-tori, Toriel, they’re hurt really, really badly, they need - they need help - “

“Do you have your phone?” Toriel asked, clamping down on the panic in her voice. She had to be calm, cool, regal.

“N-nuh-no.”

In a mighty rustle of cloth, Toriel kneeled, first passing Alphys her phone before easing Frisk up into her arms. “Dial, oh, ah, um -- “ For a moment, she blanked. To be fair, she hadn’t had the number ingrained in her since she was a child.

“911,” the Primus helpfully supplied - if somewhat absently, as he was focused on the strange flowers blossoming out of the floor from the path that Frisk and Alphys had come from. Fucking _buttercups._ “You’ll need to go outside, though, I promise you that you won’t get signal in here.”

Toriel nodded swiftly. “We’ll call for help, then. Will your Inquisitor be alright?”

“He’s well trained, he’ll be fine. “

Alphys took a deep breath. “She made, made me -- a-alter a soul for her, I-I’m sorry, I tried to break it, but, but, I thought - you should know -- “

“--Alter -- ?” His gaze snapped down to the small, yellow monster.

Alter a soul. Tried to break it. He thought, for a moment, of the demon consuming this place. Then. _“Oh, fuck, fucking fuck, we need to -- "_ It was as he was turning to run back because - _fuck, fuck, he knew that, no matter what, no matter the odds, Legbiter would fight no matter what -_ that Frisk’s soft voice came from Toriel’s arms.

“One of your… people is downstairs. Two-Bit. They’re... hurt.”

He rounded on the group. _What._  “And you _left them?”_

Then - in a sudden flash - he realized what that meant. What _they_ meant. Why it was a very, very good thing that Two-Bit hadn’t been brought up with them, and what might have happened --

He smacked a hand to his face, purposefully restraining himself from looking at Sans. Shit. “I need to help them. Your majesty, I -- “

Calmly, smoothly, Toriel seemed to anticipate what he was going to say. “I’ll get Frisk and Alphys to safety, and then call for help. After that, I’ll return to aid Undyne and your Inquisitor.”

He let out a breath, the calmness returning to his features. God, he really did appreciate the Queen of the Monsters. “Thank you. Stay safe. It’s going to be a hard fight.”

And with that, he was off. He didn’t even ask where he needed to go. He knew he just had to follow the buttercups.

 

* * *

 

 

“No, no,” he whispered, staring down at you and your ruined soul. “No, you didn’t -- you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”

You grunted as he shifted you slightly, supporting your back with his arm. He was doing his best to be courteous of your wounds, but it was still pretty agonizing. Luckily, you had a pretty absurd pain tolerance. When you spoke, it was weakly, littered with pauses… but you kept at it. You needed to. “She was right. It was obvious; I should have thought about it more. Reasonably... you had to have _some_ sort of tie to this world. Of course it would be my soul. That’s…”

You laughed, weakly, concealing the pain that flared through your abdomen as he applied pressure on the wound in an attempt to halt the bleeding. “...probably why I’ve felt so sick and tired, lately. Your drain on my soul.”

“I’m so, so sorry. I…” He stared at you, the picture of misery, and you regretted not putting that more nicely.

“Shh, no.” You reached up, resting a hand on his arm. He was gradually starting to pull himself together, and you rubbed at his sleeve, trying to be comforting. Of course you were trying to comfort someone else when you’d been shot. “Shh, shh, no. I wouldn’t… it wouldn’t have changed anything, if I’d known. I’d do it for you. Gladly.”

You knew that was true. Easily, absolutely, you’d do it for him, without question.

It was then that you realized something, as you felt the pressure compacting your soul. If you gave up - if you failed - if you broke under the weight of the Grand Order’s impositions…

Gaster would be sent back there. Back to the void. And -- you knew that absolutely, without question, that this was unacceptable. Initially - when you had saved him - you had done it out of love. Generic, all-encompassing love of people - of the world - the just, pure love that you’d seen in Phoenix, that day, when she had held your hand and promised you that she would save you. The love of a hero.

But now… you knew that you had to keep going out of _love,_ of this fierce, burning feeling for him, specifically, of wanting to him to be able to be fascinated by weather, or be entranced by a book, or, or just, him being able to smile - not even at you, just wanting him to be able to smile and be happy...

For that, you knew you had to preserve your soul.

For that - you knew you had to do everything to keep it from the Beast, because you knew if you fell, it would destroy him… in every sense of the word.

“What… what can I do? I don’t -- I don’t know how to fix this.” He slipped his fingers into your hair, looking down at you in misery.

You felt it crawling there, at the back of your mind, at the back of your heart, making promises. It would be so easy to -- “Keep… talking to me, please. I… the Cerebrum wouldn’t have acted like that if someone unexpected hadn’t come, so maybe… help is here. It'll be okay, if I can hold on for a bit longer..."

You could only hope that it was the kind of help you needed.

“Okay, okay -- “ Desperately, he searched for a topic. “...Your name was Aegis?”

That got a soft chuckle. You wondered if he knew how clever it was to bring that up. If you remembered who you used to be - that prideful knight, that pure warrior - it was easier to fight off the sin crawling across your fingers. “Yes. Aegis of the Fallen Star, because -- do you… know what you do with fallen stars?”

“You wish on them,” he said easily. “Underground, there was a place where the crystals gleamed on the ceiling like stars, and we used to pretend that… Well. I’m sure you can guess.”

You nodded slightly, shifting your gaze up to the ceiling. “I was meant to protect those fleeting wishes - and those wizards, like stars fallen from the sky and born on Earth, burning bright with all those hopes…”

His voice was soft, tender. “...It’s perfect, for you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s -- it really is perfect. I can’t think of you in any other way, now. I look at you, and I can so easily say, _Aegis of the Fallen Star._ Especially… now,” he murmured, gently touching the spot beside your eyes. “Now that your eyes look like the stars themselves.”

You couldn’t restrain a laugh at that - and you immediately regretted it because holy-heck that hurt. But you couldn’t stop, letting out brief, wheezing laughs. “That -- I can’t, I can’t believe you just said that, that’s so _corny._ ”

“I -- “ Briefly, he seemed offended, mouth drawn in a pout. “I was -- speaking honestly!”

“Yeah, and it was _corny,_ j-jeez -- the stars? Really?” You looked away, at the shimmering pool of water that had encompassed the entire floor. You were… pretty certain this was something Gaster couldn’t see.

Hooray.

“...Why are your eyes gold, now? Do you know?”

You hummed to yourself, slightly, glad for the distraction of complex thought. It helped you subdue your more… _base_ urges. “Not sure. Could be because none of this is really quite… real. Could be that…”

You remembered a room that smelled like flowers, and a voice that said, _hold still, I’ll try to make it as painless as possible --_

“Well!” You banished the memory. “...I did say… that… she did strange things to my eyes, didn’t I?”

The breath caught in Gaster’s throat, and it looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Goodness. Maybe he hadn’t really.. realized what you’d meant. And there was something there, in the set of his shoulders, in the absolute _fury_ of his thinly drawn mouth - and you thought about how he had, calmly and cooly, obliterated the Cerebrum’s arm.

...It was kind of scary, but also a little bit cool?

Mostly scary, though, you didn’t really want him to feel like that. “Shh, shh, hey, it’s okay. It’ll be okay,” you murmured softly, letting your arm rest on your chest. “I’ll be okay…”

It was then that the pair of you heard footsteps crashing down the stairs - quick and urgent, without any care for subtlety. And, with it, was a voice you recognized very well. “ _Two-Bit! Two-Bit, are you in here?”_

“P...Primus?” You called, and, a second after, he was at the doorway, breathing heavily and looking thoroughly disheveled.

“Oh, oh I’m so fucking glad, it hasn’t gotten down here, yet,” he breathed out, settling his hand on the doorway. “Two-Bit, we have to leave, _now,_ or --”

He stopped as soon as he saw your soul.

“...Don’t look like that,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice easy. Calm. You were actually relieved, thankful that it was him. He’d do what was necessary. “I’ll be fine. Though, ah, you should get me to Crane. I can hold on, but…”

“You’ll be ‘fine’,” he repeated, the sarcasm clear and apparent. His fingers gripped the doorframe, and if it wasn’t made of stone, you’d be afraid of him breaking it.

“Yes. I’ve got a strong soul, after all, as long as no one else who knows Gaster sees him…”

“That woman really did affect you,” he said coldly, eyes glinting above you with restrained rage. “For you to be able to delude people so easily.”

The breath caught in your throat, and you choked out a laugh that reverberated dully in your chest like a thick, hacking cough. Gaster looked torn between fury and confusion, his mouth starting to melt a little as he couldn’t quite keep his form together. You held up a hand, a silent plea for him to keep quiet -- not that the Primus would be able to understand his outrage.

“You’re right,” you rasped weakly, glancing down at the sticky blood coating your clothing. Ahh, you could feel it building, that temptation. “...I really am a witch of lies, just like her.”

It was vile, you knew, your lies and your deception, but you still really wished the Primus had just played along.

“Oh, don’t be so fucking melodramatic, you’re not _psychotic,_ ” he hissed, raking a hand through his short hair and completing its ruination. He looked like a complete mess. “Just -- _shit, stop acting like you don’t know you’re going to die.”_

"Wh-what?” came Gaster’s strangled voice above you, and you closed your eyes, letting out a dull laugh. “What does he mean? _Aegis, what does he mean?_ ”

“...Sorry, I, uh. I mislead you, a bit. I don’t think it’s possible to restore a cracked soul, Gaster, and even if magi did know how…” You coughed wetly. “I can already feel it starting to claim me. My heart is turning to the Beast to survive, and I’m powerless to stop it. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to remain me… so… will you listen to my last request?”

Gaster stared at you in uncomprehending shock. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, you -- you can’t -- _you acted like you were going to be okay!”_

“Speak,” the Primus said, his voice rough like the craggy cliffsides by the storm-coated sea, before he began to fiddle with his pocket watch, swinging it in a slow, looping circle by the chain. You knew that meant he was thinking.

Hah. Scheming, more like.

"I want you to live, Gaster,” you said, tilting your head slightly to look at his grief-stricken face. “When my soul collapses, the magic keeping you here will be undone. So.” A deep breath, then, "Sir. Take my soul out of my body. Once it doesn’t have to support this meat-sack, it should be a little more stable. Take it to Crane, have her cleanse it of the Beast’s taint -- whatever you have to do to keep it around long enough to enact the ritual that’ll bind Gaster to this world. It should work, even without - " A shuddering breath. “...Even without the Forest Witch’s help, my notes are pretty comprehensive. I think you can pull it off.”

The Primus looked at you, his mouth thin, and you could see he was thinking very, _very_ hard.

“Will -- will we… we’ll still have your soul; you -- if we keep your soul from going to the afterlife, that means we can put it back, yes? We can still -- we can bring you back to life! Correct?” He sounded like he was begging. Poor thing. “Right? That’s how it works? As long as it’s not gone, there’s still some hope? We can -- if we have time, we can fix it and put it back?”

“...Hypothetically, yes. There are stories of the dead coming back to life because someone kept their soul safe and guarded. But we’re so much more fragile now than we used to be. The Beast has ravaged us, over time, sorrow…” Ahh, it hurt. You gripped onto Gaster instead of indulging in the urge to taste your own blood. “...has made us weak to corruption. Please, let me do my final duty to you, and then let me rest. Anything else risks the birth of a demon.”

And you would make a terrifying demon, you knew that well.

“I thought -- I thought human magic was supposed to be about hope! Wishes! Miracles! Wanting something so badly that you say, _fuck the rules, I’m going to do it anyway!”_ He bent over your body, and something dark and wet dripped on your face. Tears, thick and goopy -- ahh, how it broke your heart to see Gaster cry.

You raised a trembling hand to his cheek, wiping away one of those fat drops with your thumb. “The Beast is the price we pay for magic. It is our ultimate limitation. Hope… miracles… salvation… these are the gifts of the magi, and yet, long ago, they were irrevocably stained with despair. That’s our secret, Gaster. We’re afraid - we must be afraid, for blind hope will bring our world to ruin.”

Trying to smile, you delivered your final plea. “Magic cannot be brought forth without risk, and the risk of me turning into a monster is too great for me to bear. Please, don’t try and change it. Accept this as my death.”

You let your hand drop from his face, but he caught it, like he was just… unable to let go. “No, no, no, there -- there has to be a way! You can’t die, you’re too precious to die! If -- If I’m killed, the pressure on your soul will subside, yes? Please, let me die instead! Please!”

Lightly, you shook your head, not having the energy for a grander gesture.  “It’s too late, and besides -- you have something to live for, Gaster. A family who needs you, a world that deserves you in it. Me? Day in, day out… I struggle. I spend my days pretending that I can be a hero, when I know, in my heart that the longer I live, the more likely it is I will fall. So, please. Gaster. Let me… give you back you future.”

He bent over you, crying, and then -- suddenly - a formal, authoritative click sounded in the air as the Primus caught his pocketwatch. “I’ve made my decision,” he announced, voice as crisp and clear as a winter’s night. “Gaster. As the royal scientist, you’re an expert on souls, yes? I’m correct in my assumption that you did _that_ kind of work?”

Gaster’s attention snapped to the Primus, and your breath caught in your throat. He surely didn’t mean to --

“Yes,” Gaster replied, eyes wide -- and then he nodded quickly so he could be understood.

“Alphys mentioned the Cerebrum had her alter a soul. Is that what this is for?” He asked, gesturing to the machinery around the room. “Can you use it to fix their soul? What do you need to do that? Here -- type it to me,” he said, offering the phone to Gaster.

Likely, he gave Gaster a means to communicate with him because he knew you weren’t going to translate. He was correct. “What? No! No way!” You tried to push yourself up into a proper sit. “Sir, that’s -- _that’s incredibly dangerous!_ The way it stands now, my soul will shatter before I can truly become a demon! If you do that -- if you try to fix it -- it would be _so easy_ for something horrible to happen! You could turn me into an even more vile creature than I could ever become naturally! Think of the _good of the world,_ sir!”

“ _Fuck_ the good of the world!” The Primus snapped, that rage finally boiling over. “What fucking good has the world ever done to us? We give our lives in service of the common good, _and what does the world offer us in return?_ Pain! Denial! Suffering! _We’ve been cursed and tossed aside by the very world we work to save!_ Magic is supposed to be beautiful, and fun, and _whimsical --_ our discipline, thaumaturgy, is about _miracles_ \-- and yet, what do we turn into? Beasts! Demons! Our lives are spent in fear, and our dreams are twisted into nightmares! _The world has cursed us!_ ”

The Primus gritted his teeth, smacking the table Alphys had been working on with the flat of his palm. He pointed at you, sharply, and something in his eyes spoke of deep, unquenchable sorrow. “I’ve no duty to this _fucking broken world!_ The good of the many? _The many_ can go fuck themselves with a goddamn carrot! It’s _you_ I care about! It’s _you_ I have a duty to! It’s _you_ I will do anything to protect -- and all of the wizards under my jurisdiction! I will do _anything_ to keep you alive, and safe, and dreaming! Do you understand? _Anything!_ ”

“How -- how can you allow someone to tamper with my soul? After everything you’ve said? You’ve done? After speaking for so long about the inherent dangers, about how…!” You couldn’t continue, unable to muster up the passion to keep speaking.

“I’ve already lost one wizard tonight, Two-Bit! I’m _goddamn fucking well not going to lose another!_ You!” The Primus jabbed his finger sharply in Gaster’s direction. “Can you do with science what our magic cannot? Can you save something that the fucking _world itself_ has deemed unsavable?”

Gaster looked at the machinery around the room. He looked at the Primus, the cell-phone in his hand, and then, finally, at you, with your cracked soul and your still bleeding stomach. He thought of what his work had wrought, he thought of the failures, of the pain, of the suffering. He thought of the lives lost due to his hubris -- of his search for the _truth --_  and he thought of his own death, at his own hands, due to the guilt of what he had done.

Finally, Gaster keyed in a single sentence and presented it to the man who would abandon everything for his people.

[I CAN TRY.]

The Primus took it, staring at the flicker for a moment. “Good enough. Tell me what you need, and let’s get to work.”

“No!” Was your final protest, and you tried to shove yourself away from Gaster. You weren’t worth it, you thought to yourself, reaching for the knife still there, on the floor, where that child had dropped it earlier. “I won’t -- “

Suddenly, something was wrapped around you tightly, and Gaster’s mouth was on yours, and you could feel how shaky he was, and how rough his breaths were, and how desperately he clung to you, and -- yeah, uh, it kinda hurt, with the whole… being shot thing, but it was something you could ignore in favor of your pounding heart.

The knife clattered out of your hand, and he pulled back, just a little, just so he could see your face. “Please let me try,” he begged, searching your dazed expression. “Please.”

He’d turned to goop around you, enveloping your form partially, and how -- and how could you possibly resist that? How?

You wanted to hope. You wanted to dream. After so long --

“Okay,” you whispered, then. “I -- I want… I want to believe in you.”


	15. There's a Lot of Noise on Your End - Is Something Going On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHECK BACK FOR DRAWINGS TOMORROW
> 
> I'M POOPED
> 
> PS the first two chapters have illustrations and there's a Sans/Reader in this series now!
> 
> also, come to glitterbark.tumblr.com for tons of extras - like headcanons, AU interpretations of the character, fanart... and even little writing snippets that are too short to post on Ao3!

It was quiet the entire way home - and, while the silence wasn’t quite oppressive, it similarly wasn’t comfortable, either, as neither child could keep themselves from glancing at the blood staining their teacher’s sword. The somberness of death permeated that group, and, in it, they reflected on many things - their lives, their motivations, their characters… and the state of their souls.

They inhabited a brick home in one of the older districts of town. Admittedly small, but with an immaculately tended to garden, it possessed a warm, attractive atmosphere in the somber evening light. As Inquisitor Grizzly tromped up to the front door, his older student, Anklebiter, lingered momentarily underneath the dogwood tree overshadowing the path, his gaze trailed up on the white blossoms. The click of the lock distracted him, though, and, without comment, he turned from the approaching night to follow.

The younger of the pair - Astra - remained, staring the daffodils wavering slightly in the breeze. They were as close as she could ever come to the stars.

“Kiddo?” Inquisitor Grizzly called, placing his giant hand on the edge of the doorway as he leaned through. “You coming?”

“Yes.” Her celestial cape fluttered slightly as she turned, the fabric catching brief little glints of the dying sun. Her expression conveyed a grim sort of severity that was unusual to see on a fourteen year old girl’s face - especially hers, so given to lively expressions and gestures of mirth.

Grizzly sighed and stepped out of the doorway, ushering her through with a gentle hand.

“You’re home!” A distinctly feminine voice called, and a small, portly woman - rounded from age, childbirth, and, most predominantly, happiness - stepped out of the kitchen. The creases on her face spoke of well-worn smiles, and she treated the returning group to one of those particular expressions of warmth.

“We are.” Grizzly swept over to her, bending over to kiss his tiny wife on the mouth. (Actually, perhaps it should be said - Madeline was just about average height for a woman… it was the Inquisitor who was far taller than he had any right to be.) “Do I smell dinner?”

“Mhmm. And make sure you keep your fingers out of it!” Madeline - or, as she was often affectionately know, Mrs. Grizzly - smiled up at him, and then looked over at the two children hanging up their things in the closet. Something about their expressions caused her mouth to tilt in concern. “...How did it go?”

Grizzly’s sigh was all she needed to confirm the worst. Madeline was about to say something more, when Astra turned and parted from the group, walking quietly down the hall. “I’ll be in my room.”

Anklebiter stared at the scabbard in his hands, rubbing a thumb across the leather, and then he set it next to Astra’s and clicked off the light. “We had to kill her,” he said quietly, and his fingers lingered on the handle of the closet door. Only when he felt the weight of Grizzly’s huge hand on his shoulder did he look up, and their gazes met.

In that instant, Anklebiter could really and truly see the age on his teacher’s face. Not just in the mottled scaring carved across his features, but also worn into the dark creases around his eyes. He stared for a long moment before looking way.

“Madeline,” Grizzly called, briefly glancing over his shoulder. “Think y’could make some hot cocoa for the kids?”

“Of course, darling.” Her face relaxed into a smile once more. Chocolate was good for the soul, after all - and she turned, fluttering back into the kitchen.

“What’s on your mind?” Grizzly asked, guiding his student to the living room. Anklebiter had always been a rather reclusive boy - even in his youth, he often kept what he was thinking to himself. Not to say he wasn’t friendly - he was, certainly, and even possessed a well-crafted - if not fully refined - sense of humor. He was just…

Closed off.

But, he’d speak when asked, and he did so now, biting his lip briefly as he thought. “I feel like things are only going to get more complicated as I get older. That makes me nervous.”

A low, grumbling sound of thought emerged from Grizzly’s throat, and he sat on the couch with a creak and a heavy grunt. “Ehh. Complicated, eh?”

Anklebiter sat on the edge of the sofa - he was a natural percher, and prefered things like counters and tables to normal seating. He took his braid between his hands, and begin slowly undoing it as he spoke. “...Having to kill someone hurts. I can bear it for now, but what if I can’t always manage to keep going? What if the me that exists in the future… is the sort of man who ends up falling into despair?”

Grizzly laughed briefly, rubbing at his mouth. “Hah. Y’know, Ankle, most people worry about how to make the right choice… not if the choices they make will end up destroying them. You really are a puzzling lad.”

Anklebiter shrugged. “Well… on the job, there aren’t really choices, are there? We didn’t _choose_ to kill Miss Rhododendron . The specifics of the situation lead to her needing to be killed. That was the result of our analysis - it’s not about _to kill_ or _not to kill_. It’s about... _is our best choice to kill?_ And it was.”

The young inquisitor-in-training pulled his knees to his chest, propping his cheek up on them. His hair spilled around him in a luxurious wave of nutty brown, framing him in the light. “When presented with a problem, we must take the best action available to us. We reach a conclusion based on our acquired information and accumulated experiences. Perhaps later, as we think about it more, we might come up with a different, better solution - but… the person that exists now isn’t the person that existed then. What’s the point of feeling guilty about that? ...In the end… self-doubt is just a trick the mind plays to pin you in place. If you’ve judged something to be necessary, then what’s the point of tearing apart your own thoughts? What good does that do? You taught me that yourself… didn’t you?”

“I did,” Grizzly grumbled, smooshing his fist into his cheek as he shifted into a lounge. “Sure didn’t teach you to be so god-awfully pretentious about it, though. So… you’re worried that - even though you know what you _have_ to do - the consequences will wear on you?”

Anklebiter nodded slightly, then turned his head towards Madeline as she entered the room. With a smile, she presented him a steaming mug of hot cocoa -- made with _real_ milk and from powder out of the _fancy_ tin. Another was passed to Grizzly. “Here you are; drink up.”

The Inquisitor gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek - they were _that_ sort of couple. “Going to talk to Astra?”

“Mhmm. Dinner’s simmering, now, so I don’t need to fret over it.”

“Good luck. You know how they are, at that age.”

“Ahh, I could never forget.” Madeline sighed, and then reached over to pat Anklebiter on the head. “Have a good talk, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thank you,” Anklebiter said simply, looking down at the cheerful mountain of whipped cream topping his drink. He flicked his tongue lightly, scooping some into his mouth, and then looked over at his teacher as Madeline left. “So… what do you think about my problem?”

“Mm.” He took a musing gulp, leaving a milky-white moustache on his already quite formidable facial hair. “Well, answer me this - why are you alive? Why do you fight? As long as you understand that - you’ll always have a reason to continue living.”

“...Ah.” Anklebiter looked at the ceiling, resting the bottom of his mug on his knees.”I guess that’s the problem, then. How can a dead person have a reason to live?”

“You’re not dead, boy,” Grizzly said with a tired sigh, as if it was something he’d said many times before. To be fair, it was. “You have a soul, just like I do, just like Astra does. Nothing has changed that; you’re still living.”

The reply was cold, plain - at this point, he wasn’t even trying to pretend. “Am I? Really? A life without happiness… is that really living? It’d be one thing if I just felt empty, but you won’t let me harden myself to death, either, so all that’s left for me is… pain. Don’t you think…”

His amber gaze turned to the floor. “...That maybe you should give up on me? That maybe it was a mistake to bring me back from the dead? I’m not getting _better._ ”

“Ankh…” Grizzly reached out, placing his huge palm on the boy’s head. Sixteen - still a child - and he’d already resigned himself to such a grim fate... one of sorrow, misery, with nothing bright to make the days pass more easily. “There’s something that can transcend even death itself - do you know what it is?”

“Determination?” He guessed, looking down at the little sprinkles Mrs. Grizzly had put on his whipped cream. It had cooled enough for him to take a sip, and so he did so. At least chocolate still tasted good.

“Hah, no, you silly boy. Wishes, hopes, dreams… all of those fade into the peace of death. No -- the thing that remains, even after the spirit has moved on… is love.”

After a pause, Ankh tilted his head in a particularly dog-like manner. “Love?”

“Aye. Love. Your friends, your family, your colleagues… Heh,” he tipped his mug up in a brief toast. “...Should you ever find one, your lover -- those feelings you share have the power to transcend even the grave. Love - _true_ love, and the compassion that comes with it, can mend souls. Save lives. Affect the world even after the body has decayed. Dreams die with the dreamer. Governments fall with the people, and ideals… you can’t swear yourself to those. They’ll betray you, in the end, and won’t even fuckin’ apologize for it. Kiddo -- despite everything, you care about Astra, right? You’d protect her if she was in trouble?”

“Of course,” Ankh replied without hesitation.

“Why?”

“...I dunno.” A pause. “Because the thought of her not being around anymore hurts.”

“Why?” Grizzly pressed further.

There was a long pause. Then. “...Because… being around her makes things feel better. Like --.... I’m… content.”

Anklebiter sounded a little surprised at that realization.

The Inquisitor laughed. “See, kiddo? You can still feel things like that. Bit by bit, as you grow - as you _love_ \- you’re going to heal. And, in the future, you’ll look back on these thoughts and be so grateful you kept going. So… keep your heart gentle and loving, and fight to protect those at your side...

Grizzly reached out to tap Anklebiter on the chest. “...because then, when you see them struggling beside you, you’ll always know why you’re alive.”

 

* * *

 

In that single, thread-like moment before the inevitable collision of two opposing forces, there’s a shared moment of mutual insight. Something is conveyed through that pure force of will - as if, in unison, the two souls bear themselves wholly before one-another before trying to rip each other to shreds. It’s a primal thing, beyond thought and reason, a thing composed of intuition and in some ways… an almost spiritual state of transcendence.

And what that ferocious, bestial soul conveyed was hate. Power. The sort of ancient evil that lurked under the ground -- ageless, sleeping. The intent to devour filled the air with an overwhelmingly floral scent, and it was mesmerizing in its horrific beauty.

Inquisitor Legbiter knew that there was a very good chance that he was going to die in this room.

As he ran - in a somewhat erratic zig-zag, as good portions of the floor had been made entirely unsafe by the thorned vines spilling and weaving across the ground - he knew, without question, that something truly, unnaturally vile had been done to the Witch of the Western Woods. This was not a matter of snapping a magus out of a impassioned frenzy…

...This was slaughtering a beast that had dressed itself up using his friend’s soul.

His normal methods wouldn’t work, here, and a single wrong step could spell death for him - for the both of them, and he could only hope that the woman at his side realized the true circumstances of this fight.

This was not a conflict to be won. This was a conflict to be _survived_ until the situation could change.

Still. He should use every tool available to him - no matter how ineffective he believed they might be. In a strong voice - one that carried over the clatter of bones and chiming of beads - he called, “Maxine! Remember who you are! Wake up!”

The use of the Forest Witch’s true name had little effect. The enormous creature placed its long, spindly hands on the ground, hunching over like some sort of vile, fleshy dog. Petals fell from from its maw as it roared and lunged, teeth snapping and clicking as it tried to crush Legbiter between its great, wide molars. He disengaged, carefully weaving out of its range of motion, and it pursued him with long, trailing fingers that grew from the wooden palm of its hand. They weaved around him, enclosing him in a basket made of fragrant timber, and he ducked, quickly, passing beneath the protrusions and slashing at them experimentally as he passed. The blade chipped into the plantflesh, and sweet-smelling, pale nectar splattered from the wound.

Some of it struck his face, burning the skin like acid, and he leapt away, rubbing swiftly at his cheek.

With a flurry of bright, melodic _tings,_ spears peppered the shadowy hide of the demon’s long neck, an ethereal blue glow spinking and fading as Undyne attacked, and, though it did little damage, it drew its attention away. It flung its great head around, and before Undyne could strike at again, Legbiter called out, “Be careful! It’s sap is toxic!”

“It’s toxic sap can EAT SHIT!” Undyne roared as it swung one of its massive arms across the arena, and she jumped before it could catch her, treating it much like a child would treat a jump rope. Well, except, most children didn’t land on their jump ropes and start stabbing them emphatically with a spear.

This did little to damage the demon - nor did the volley of spears that angled and struck at its heart. Casually, carelessly, they bounced away, shattering into glittering shards of blue glass. With a snarl, she redoubled her efforts - until she had to break away, narrowly avoiding its devastating jaw as a huge rush of air billowed from its snout and tousled the hair in her vibrantly red pony-tail. It opened it’s mouth once more, pursuing her as she scrambled up its arm, and - turning sharply, she threw the spear in her hand directly into its mouth, lodging it among brambles, briars, and thick, spewing petals.

It kept coming, charging forward in a vibrant rustle of leaves and creaking wood, and - trapped between the shadow of its arm and the unyielding maw, Undyne had two options. Dodge to the side and return to the thorn covered floor…

...Or, the infinitely cooler option, go up.

It should be pretty obvious which Undyne chose. Driving a spear into the demon’s arm, Undyne - in a smooth, frighteningly quick motion - used the shaft as a platform to leap higher and landed on top of the creature’s massive skull. It roared, thrashed, and threw its head up into the air, trying to dislodge her with a vicious shake. She refused to be moved, grabbing onto one of its mighty, curved horns for support. Her biceps strained as she was swung, but she held fast.

Legbiter hung back, studying the demon’s movements - as huge as it was, it wasn’t actually capable of moving away from the massive crater it had sprouted from. Its legs - massive, curling protrusions of wood - wound around each other and formed a trunk that connected it to the ground.

Perhaps if he damaged _that,_ they might be able to get somewhere.

Letting Undyne provide a thorough distraction, the Inquisitor ran, his sword glinting through the air as heaved a mighty hack into the fragrant wood. Anticipating the burning spray of its blood, Legbiter shielded his eyes and withdrew after leaving three jagged marks across the bark. This wisdom preserved him from being flattened by the demon’s mighty palm as it struck at him, it's screech piercing the air. It picked up its hand as he continued to retreat, and its fingers wound together, forming into a drill-like point.

“Maxine!” He huffed as he dodged, trying to reach out to her again. “You are a proud, honorable woman! Your teacher would hate to see you like this! Lady Dogwitch would _weep!_ ”

If there was anything of her left in there, it couldn’t hear him. It opened its maw, vomiting out a maelstrom of petals into the air - and blinding him with the blizzard.

White - the color death - clogged the air.

He tried to dodge whatever blow was coming, but he couldn’t see the floor anymore - which meant he couldn’t safely navigate all of the waiting traps. His sole touched one of the vines lacing the floor, and it writhed at the contact, slithering around his leg and catching him. Thorns punctured his skin, and he fell, elbow striking the ground and sword clattering out of his grip.

Undyne swore. She pried one of her arms off of the horn she’d been clinging to desperately and drew a sharp line through the air. Energy hummed and materialized from her soul, and sweat beaded down her scalp as she angled it, once more throwing a piercing bolt against the demon’s gleaming heart.

Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting. _Ting. Ting. Ting. TING. TING. “Fuck!”_ she growled, grabbing back on as the creature shook.

Undyne had run out of luck, however, as, finally, what remained of the Forest Witch had had enough. With a shuddering shake, it pushed itself into a stand, striking a grim, shadowy figure in the brimming night. The air rushed around Undyne, and she swallowed, a strike of fear arcing through her heart.

It felt like she was higher than the peak of Mount Ebott.

Realizing that she _seriously needed to get down from here,_ Undyne summoned another spear with brief _ping_ of light and took a running leap off of the creature’s head, stabbing her spear into its back and catching herself on the pole. She continued in this fashion, finding footing on a spear a few feet below her. As the creature shook once more, she grabbed on for dear life, her breaths flying from her mouth in quick, frenzied bursts.

An ethereal wind began to twist through the area, billowing through the leaves of the great tree. More petals spilled from the demon’s eyes, gradually starting to fill the air. One of its great hands smacked on its back, like it was trying to swat a fly, and Undyne swung out of the way, throwing another spear for her hand to grab on to - but, she was drawn sharply back.

One of the creature’s fingers wound itself around her arm. Before she could severe it, the infection had spread, crawling around her waist and pulling her properly into its knotty grip. Cutting and struggling only seemed to make it worse - not only did it not seem to halt the growth, but it also bathed her in that sticky, acidic blood.

(She kind of wished she’d actually paid attention to what the Inquisitor had been saying earlier.)

Not that she had much time to worry about that, because - after it had gotten a good hold on her - the demon pulled its arm back and slammed her into the ground with a ruthless, sickening crack.

It was admirable that she didn’t scream - and, in fact, kept thrashing, roaring obscenities as she ripped at her bonds. Even as the thorns started to close around her, the entirety of her soul writhed and fought - filled with unyielding determination and the boundless desire to protect her people.

It was a struggle that resonated with Legbiter himself - how could it not? He also fought for love and for dreams, though he did not carry with him the spirits of every monster in the entire world.

No. That thing that burned in his chest - brightly, brilliantly, full of light and warmth - was more singular, more individual.

For -- in the end -- Legbiter fought for the sake of the person right beside him.

With a stretch and a fleshy sounding rip, Legbiter grasped onto the hilt of his sword and slit his blade against the vines. Freeing himself, he rolled into a crouch and launched himself forward on the balls of his feet. Tears in his pants revealed raw, red skin painted with blood, but he ignored it and burst through the field of flowers. In an obscene burst of strength, he heaved on the great, knotted palm, pulling it away from Undyne’s body.

With a crack, the wood splintered, and it was just enough for Undyne to wrestle her shoulder and arm out of. She drove a spear into the creature’s wrist, smashing the tip deep, and then wriggled more as the pressure relaxed. Legbiter hooked his free arm underneath her shoulder, heaving her up and away.

“Watch out!” She howled, grabbing onto his arm and practically throwing him out of the way of another percussive smash. Three spears - bright, glorious - fanned out, thunking into the wood. Despite her groan - likely due to her injuries - she managed to exert a sizable amount of strength.

“--Hah!” Legbiter’s sword glinted through the air as she spun him. He slashed at the creature’s other hand, cutting off a number it’s finger’s in a proud slice. They felt it then, that feeling, that sharp pinprick of a _realization._ This entire time - they’d been fighting two separate battles. They’d woven around each other, briefly colliding and influencing the other’s confrontation… but not once, prior to this, had they worked together.

In a singular flash of insight, they glanced at each other… and, there, in the other’s soul - both recognized the qualifications of a _true hero_.

Inquisitor Legbiter fought for the dreams of the earth, to protect the people right next to him.

Royal Guard Undyne fought for the dreams of the sky, to protect the people that dared to hope.

And - to fight alongside someone else - someone that shared that same drive, determination, and pure, unadulterated _passion…_ was completely and absolutely invigorating.

They both grinned, and -- this time -- they fought _together._

“I’ll distract it -- focus on that crack in its soul!”

“You got it!”

They broke in separate directions, bursting from the sphere of rooty fingers in perfectly synchronized strikes. It was hard to breathe from the stench - of cut flowers, of severed stems, and of sickly sweet, cloying nectar. It surrounded them, bathed them, and the petals built into piles on the floor, obscuring the ground like drifts of snow. Still - the Inquisitor didn’t falter, navigating the battleground with inhuman bounds. He thudded onto the floor near the trunk, grass crackling beneath his feet - and he cleaved into the wood, not caring in the slightest for the spray eating through his poncho.

This had the intended effect, sending the Forest Witch into a clattering frenzy -- and its limbs slammed down repeatedly, smashing, crashing, sending up flurries of petals with each collision - but Legbiter, focused solely on dodging - avoided each attack - in one case, even vaulting over one of its great, shadowy arms. It snapped, it trashed, it threw its whole body into trying to quash the menace that was Legbiter - but, with a grin and a flip of his braid, he remained elusively out of reach.

Undyne exercised a rare amount of patience, not immediately setting into her attack once more. She waited, carefully judging -- and avoiding any residual aggression that was targeted at her. The crack was hard to see from this distance, but it came into better view when it hunched -- so Undyne waited for this opportunity as it got on its hands, bucking its head forward to gore the Inquisitor.

Maneuvering herself around curling vines, she sprinted until she was beneath the great beast’s body -- and looked up,

Above her, twinkling like a chandelier, sparkled that vile soul. And, split through the bumping curve of the heart was the crack Alphys had split into it.

Splaying her hand to the sky, Undyne grit her teeth, and --

Paused, as she heard a sharp gasp from her left.

He’d been doing so well, _so well,_ but bearing the full brunt of his opponent’s obscene strength had taken its toll. The Inquisitor had tripped up -- quite literally, in fact, the back of his boot touching another one of those dangerous vines. It writhed, wrapping around his ankle -- and, with a snap, he was heaved off his feet.

Undyne’s arms whipped into an L shape, one pointed to the sky and one at Legbiter, and she snapped her fingers, a pair of spears flashing away from her body. Both found their mark - one lodged itself into that crack in the soul, widening it by and inch, and the other severed the vine keeping Legbiter aloft. He plummeted, striking the ground with a heavy _oof_ \-- and then pushed himself up.

It was, at this moment, that they both made extremely grave errors of judgement.

Undyne’s was foolhardy bravery. Instead of running - anticipating the aggression she should have known she’d draw from her actions - she stood her ground, preparing another spear.

The Inquisitor’s error was far more complex. For, in that moment - as he wiped blood away from his face - he forgot who it was he was fighting beside.

In a time long ago, in battles long settled and in a past made hazy from the years -- when he still fought beside Astra, the star of the Inquisition and his partner from youth….

...He could have easily trusted her to take a hit. The Star and the Hound - the shield and the blade… Astra was bright and brave - so very much like Undyne, that, in the moment, it’s understandable how, for a moment, he got the two confused.

 _But Undyne was a monster._ Her soul was fragile - and, not only that… she’d already taken a substantial blow. One more would certainly kill her.

So -- in that momentary confusion -- he didn’t immediately run to haul Undyne out of danger when he saw her standing her ground. No, instead, he focused on offense...

...And didn’t realize his mistake until a giant, tsunami like-limb was already crashing down to swallow her as she deftly chucked another spear.

There wasn’t a lot he could do, at that point. It wasn’t about choice. It was about taking the facts and deriving the best solution he could from them. And -- his purpose for living was to protect the person fighting by his side. So… obviously....

He scrambled forward, heaving Undyne out of the way of the massive fist --

And took the blow instead.

Inquisitor Legbiter’s body slammed into one of those massive columns with a sickening, disgusting crunch. He crumpled to the floor, blood pooling from his bad and his mangled leg, and - for all the world - he looked like a broken doll.

“Oh, fuck -- !!” Undyne hissed, diving out of the way of the next blow. That was all she could think, really, _oh fuck, oh fuck --_ she’d never even conceived of a being of this kind of power.

From just one strike, her _everything_ hurt, and she knew she wasn’t in peak prowess. And Legbiter --

(He wasn’t dead, she could tell, he was trying to get up again. _But his leg --_ )

It’s condition was somewhat beyond description.

Luckily - in that moment - something incredibly miraculous occurred, and a powerful, booming voice echoed across the arena.  
  
“NEVER FEAR, MY FRIENDS! THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS ARRIVED!”


	16. Who's This? I Can't Hear You Very Clearly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i ended up splitting this chapter in two so I didn't take longer to update, sorry for YET ANOTHER cliffhanger ;~;

All the strength had fled you now, leaving you little more than a ripped and torn rag doll. A change had come about Gaster; he drew himself up taller and projected an air of imperial confidence as he stood and carried you to the table. This was the aura of a man at work, and, somehow, you found it comforting, despite that incessant, awful nagging from the depths of your heart.

(What would happen if this went wrong? What would happen if you…?)

You tried really, really hard not to think about it.

“Tell me what to do,” the Primus grumbled as he looked over, a palm still half-pressed against his face. Clearly, he wasn’t exactly _thrilled_ by what had just… transpired, but right now wasn’t really the time to make complaints. “But remember to keep me away from the machinery.”

Gaster settled you against the metal of the table, being as gentle and considerate as he could given the circumstances. For a moment - a very brief indulgence - he ran his hand across your thoroughly mussed hair before picking up the phone once more.

[Keep them calm and stop the bleeding], he quickly keyed out before flashing the screen to the Primus.

A nod was offered in return and, swiftly, the Primus pulled his sweater vest over his head, preparing to sacrifice it for the greater good. After folding it, he pressed it against the wound on your stomach, eliciting a small groan from you. It hurt, but you knew it was necessary. Your training had made you durable, certainly, but with your soul damaged as it was, you’d need all the help you could get to even survive.

Gaster swept over to the side of the room, throwing open a cabinet and starting to rummage within. You felt the loss immediately - having him linger there beside you helped you more than you’d realized. Still. You knew you had to keep calm, despite the heady, cloying darkness starting to bubble up in your throat.

The eyes had vanished from the room, but a strange, mirror-like substance had overtaken the entirety of the ceiling. It reflected the entire lab back at you, including the mirrored pool encapsulating the floor - which made for a dizzying, head splitting effect, especially combined with the warm burn of your eyes.

You rubbed at them, and the gesture called the Primus’ attention to your face. There was a brief moment of silence before he eloquently murmured, “What the fuck?”

After squinting and leaning in, he elaborated, “What the actual fuck?”

It took you a moment to realize, oh, yeah, he probably hadn’t had the time to notice your eyes. “Um,” you rasped, shifting your attention away from the horrifically mesmerizing ceiling. “Yeah, some weird stuff happened.”

“When?” Something about his tone struck you - that absolute… horror, so clearly discernible from his earlier powerful fury. “When did it happen?”

“You’d have to ask Gaster, I don’t really…” You were trying to look at Gaster when you noticed something on the ceiling. It was hard to tell what, exactly, first caught your attention - was it the flowers, those spilling, pressing, eager swaths of yellow? Was it the spindly, spider-like fingers, sickeningly pale and pressed up against the glass? Was it those gleaming red eyes, framed by cheerful blossoms and a disgusting snarl? In the end, it didn’t matter - you couldn’t possibly tear your eyes away from the endlessly reflected figure.

The Primus noticed you staring and followed your gaze, but you could tell from his expression that his search was in vain. “What is it?”

“Um. There’s. Someone up there, a -- a woman, I think…?” You tried to explain, your voice going breathless. “She’s -- it’s -- ah!”

A sharp pain arced within you, ripping you from the inside-out. Aside from the gleaming shimmer being radiated from the floor and the ceiling, the room had fallen to shadow, making it hard to focus on anything but that gargantuan _thing_ eyeing you from the end of the world. It had the trappings of humanity, being clad in a boundless expanse of white fashioned into a bodice at the waist, and it had hair, a steaming mass of butter-yellow that twisted out like a nebula. Daffodils grew around its forehead, a woven crown of golden stars, and, staring into those white, blooming trumpets, you saw eyes.

That was when the pain really set in - not a pain of the body, but an ache of the _soul_ , and that rabid, all-too-familiar urge to tear _._

Convulsing slightly, you tried to fight it - that darkness gripping you, dragging you into hell as punishment for ignoring its sweet temptations. _This is what you are,_ it said to you, _this is how you do your duty._

It felt like your skin didn’t fit you anymore. No - like it was _rejecting_ you.

Distantly, you felt the pressure of hands against your arms, keeping you held down as you writhed. The Primus’ face eclipsed your vision, and you saw him flick his gaze briefly to the ceiling before returning his attention to you. “ _It’s not real. Don’t look at it,_ ” he urged, a sound similar to begging.

You practically sobbed as you countered, “ _You’re lying._ ” That was the worst bit about this all - you knew that was true.

“What’s going on?” Gaster’s sweet voice sounded so distant, unreasonably so - and the desperate way you wanted him next to you made you feel vile. Weren’t you supposed to be stronger than this?

 _“Two-Bit,”_ the Primus commanded, prying one hand off your arm to cover your eyes. “ _Do. Not. Look.”_

The sudden dark sent you into a clawing, bestial panic. _You hated it,_ your heart said to you as a screaming fear filled your gut. _You hated the dark, you hated the shadows, you wanted to be closer to the light and the sun - please, you begged, please don’t leave me here to die._ You felt dagger-like nails sink into his flesh as you pried the Primus’ hand off your face, and blood began pooling around your fingers.

The Primus resisted you with everything he had.

“Get off me!” you hissed, wrenching yourself off the table. The pressure the Primus put on you was meaningless - it was kind of silly how much faith you all put in such a weak, breakable little person. “Let me see!”

“ _You can’t acknowledge that thing’s existence,”_ he shouted, and you could see glimpses of his face through the cracks of his fingers. “You _have to pretend it doesn’t exist, Two-Bit_ , _even if, in your heart, you know otherwise._ Or else you will be _ruined_ \- do you understand?”

“Aegis! Please listen to him! You’ll hurt yourself!”

The sound of Gaster’s sharp command caused you to pause, and your limbs went limp as you stopped resisting. Not that you hated this any less, mind, and you couldn’t ignore the terror of the night. “Just let me see! I don’t want it to be dark!”

“It’s going to be alright. We’re here, everything is fine. Aegis, you’re going to be fine.” Gaster’s buzzing reassurance kept you still, though you didn’t pull your bloody hands away from the Primus’ arm. Not that it mattered - he was firmly keeping his large palm splayed across your face. With the absence of your sight, you had nothing to focus on but what you could feel - like the pain, the cold burn of the table beneath you…

And a faint, familiar sort of whispering.

“How can you just ignore what you know is there?” You asked them both, trying to focus on the sound of Gaster working in the background. Clicking, ticking - you heard a strange whoosh of air, like he was releasing some sort of air-locked chamber. Despite knowing that his work might do something terrible to you, the sounds were still comforting - probably because it was evidence that he was here. He was there. He wasn’t that far away.

It was the Primus who responded, in a voice hard and steeled against the pain you’d inflicted. God, you could feel it on your skin - wet and sticky like vile nectar. “Because the consequences of acknowledging that thing are too dire. Two-Bit, close your eyes -- _please._ ”

“I don’t get it.” You obeyed anyway, though - because you had two choices, and Gaster’s voice had reminded you that one of them was slaughter.

(You imagined crushing your soul in your hands, and the thought comforted you. It was hypocritical, you knew - but you couldn’t believe in Gaster, not fully and truly. A voice in your head kept prophesying your doom, and you couldn’t help but listen.)

“It’s better if you don’t.” You felt him gingerly pull his hand off your face, checking to see if you’d complied with his request. A relieved sigh whooshed out of him when he saw that you had, and - with a sharp tear of fabric, he mutilated his bloodstained sweater vest, crafting a makeshift blindfold that he tied around you.

“...You can’t see it, can you?”

“No. Not now. But I have before.” The Primus let out a shaking, shuddering breath. “Believe me, I speak from experience. Acknowledging it’s existence will only give it power over you.”

“What… is it?”

“That’s the opposite of ‘not acknowledging it’, Two-Bit.” After a brief pause, you heard him continue, “Focus on what you’re doing, Gaster. They’re fine now.”

You heard a worried sounding grumble from the other end of the room, and - for some reason - that petulant sound warmed your heart a little, though it was only a brief distraction from…

Everything else.

The Primus must have seen your struggle, because you felt his hand on yours a few moments before he began to quietly speak. “It’s just you, Gaster, and I in here - and nothing’s out of the ordinary for now. He’s… I’m not sure what he’s doing, actually. He’s got some sort of beaker in his hand, and now he’s putting it in one of those machines. That’s what that beeping sound is - he’s pressing buttons. Very… technical looking.” You could hear the squint in his voice. “The lights are flickering quite a lot - and, ah…”

He hesitated, clearly looking for more things to describe. You interrupted him as you wiped some of his blood on the table. Your hands felt really odd… had your nails gotten longer…? “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

His voice was gruff. “I’m fine.”

Something struck you suddenly, and before he could say anything else, you asked, “Are those kids alright?”

“...Kids?” He questioned, and you could practically hear the furrowing of his brow. “If you’re talking about Frisk, yes, I came here with their mother. She has them, now.”

That was a relief, at least, but… Thoughts began to start tumbling in, now, of all the things you should say, all the things you should _tell him._ “P-Primus, the Cerebrum is here, she’s alive, and --”

“Shh.” He gripped your hand tighter. “I know, I saw, the Inquisitor is dealing with it. Stop worrying about that. You can tell me what happened later. Instead, you - “

You heard the Primus stop short. “Oh holy fuck,” you heard him whisper, and his tone made your blood run cold.

“P-Primus?”

Your hesitating voice was lost under a sea of petals and - in a choking, inescapable moment, you were submerged in a scream that split the world in two.

There was no possible way to resist the dream that enveloped you.

 

* * *

 

 

  
It was a matter of simple transposition, of substituting one throne room to another as she slipped deeper into a flowery hell. It was perfectly idiotic and yet, at the same time, resoundingly clever. Of course the flowers sung to each other, of course they chattered and gathered like gossiping hens around the tea table. Reaching across the Great Barrier, the petals touched - and, through them, the Cerebrum found her way into that room of ages past.

She grinned at her success, her fangs glinting slightly in the light.

There wasn’t time to gloat, though - not that she was the sort to indulge in the habit, anyway - and she turned, stepping off of the central mosaic that glittered on the floor. Great, shining glass windows watched her, spilling flickering, colored light on her twisted, half-bestial body. Somehow - despite the jarring disconnect the between soft, colored light and the Cerebrum’s frightening monochrome - she seemed to fit here exactly.

Like she belonged. Like - for her, for that woman…

There was no better place for her to be.

Much in the same way that yellow delights from purple’s presence, gaining depth and drama from the contrast of its complement, the Cerebrum seemed emboldened here. And - perhaps still - those sickeningly green eyes seemed less unnatural, in this place… like the glass of these holy windows had been stuck there, in her eyes, and now…

The gift was finally being returned.

“Ma’am,” a quiet voice said from her side. “Do you want me to carry you?”

In a way, it was Bear - so thoroughly, mundanely human - that truly stuck out. The warm, earthen hues of his skin stood out in the soft, crystalline light, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. It didn’t matter what the world around him looked like - he was loyal and steadfast, and would stay by the Cerebrum’s side forever.

That was the sort of loyalty he held to her. It was all he felt he could offer, as powerless as he was.

In truth - he didn’t belong anywhere in this story of gods, death, and magic, of monsters and men and the end of the world. Dreams, nightmares, demons - none of that was in his blood, none of that was carved into his ancestry.

He didn’t really care, though. That wasn’t the sort of thing that mattered to him.

“Ah, stop your fretting,” she murmured. The way she casually dismissed his question with a slight flick of her wrist bordered on hilarity, considering she did so with that wretched, demonic hand. “I’ll walk.”

“You got stabbed. Also, that monster blew your arm off.” His blunt irreverence totally didn’t fit the majesty of the palace they’d found themselves in, and the Cerebrum laughed lightly at the contrast.

“It’s fine, I’ve suffered much worse, believe me. I’ll walk under my own power; I’m capable of that at least.” A pause. ”You don’t even need to be here, you know.”

“Of course I know.” He looked around, faint curiosity on his face as they passed through dead, ancient halls. This was all profoundly new to him, after all - being completely unmagical, he didn’t dream about ancient legends and the history that had shaped the Magi. “But I said I’d believe in you until the end, didn’t I?”

She sighed lightly - but then, with the light delicacy of a butterfly’s wing, it shifted into a chuckle. “You really do set your heart on the strangest things.”

“Says the woman who wouldn’t stop complaining until I got her spaghetti-o's at three in the morning.”

“Those were _dire_ circumstances.” The Cerebrum hissed out another laugh, and then grabbed onto the oaken banister sliding down a mighty flight of widely spaced steps. “Now, shush. We shouldn’t talk in the Cathedral.”

Click. Click. Click… “It’s the place where all of this began, after all.”

 

* * *

 

To call it majestic would have been a gross underappreciation of Papyrus’ talents.

Actually, there were few words that really could properly describe that shining beam of perfect light, brilliant as the rays of summer striking the shifting water of the ocean. Perhaps all that can truly be said is…

_It was super cool._

Hand outstretched dramatically, a strange, fanged construct hovering at his side, Papyrus cut a profoundly dashing figure. Brilliant orange seeped from its mouth and its sockets - and, it would have been frightening, had the weapon not been scribbled all over with a cheerful motley of markers, marking out a vibrant grin and numerous flame and lightning-bolt designs.

The light was overpowering - though not endless, despite his attack lasting for an exhilaratingly long time. The Forest Demon writhed, throwing back its head and howling as Papyrus struck at its heart.

“UNDYNE!” he cried as the fierce, high-pitched whirring petered out in intensity. “NOW!”

She didn’t have to be told twice - the vibrantly ferocious warrior practically leaped as she forced herself of the ground, and - with a perfectly harmonious, musical series of dings, she used the last of her reserves on a series of devastatingly timed spears. They sunk into the wretched soul, piercing that dripping, crystalline body - and, with a howl that seemed to consume the entire earth - it split apart, crumbling into chunks of cinnabar-colored glass.

And thus, in a vibrant burst of overwhelming heroism, the nightmare was over.

With a startling, jolting sensation - much like a sudden, sharp awakening - the sky was gone, the tree had dissipated, and the world was quiet once more. The cool, dusty grey stone spread out mundanely before them, and on it, the body of Maxine lay there, flat on her face and - despite the wounds in her gut - untouched.

In the brief moment of silence, a girl poked her beaked mask from around Papyrus’ side, surveying the condition of those who had fought.

“Papyrus!!” Undyne turned, her breaths quick and heavy. She took a few stumbling steps towards him, her gaze flicking behind him as if looking for something. “Crane! What the heck are you - nevermind! Where’s Toriel? Did she find Frisk? Did she find Alphys?!”

“YES! SHE’S WATCHING OVER THE BOTH OF THEM OUTSIDE!” Papyrus beamed, although the smile was somewhat strained. He’d gone all out on his special attack, and the resulting drain left him looking somewhat… less than peachy. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT, UNDYNE? AH -- OH NO, HUMAN, DON’T MOVE! THAT LOOKS VERY BAD!”

The Inquisitor spared a brief glance at the bombastic skeleton, but that didn’t stop him from pushing himself out of the pool of blood soaking into the stone. His attempts to stand on his mutilated leg were valiant though, ultimately, terrifying, and it was only a matter of time before someone intervened in this obviously horrific idea.

Rather unusually, that person was Crane.

It might be prudent, at this point, to take a moment to properly introduce Crane. Brief, passing mentions and a comet-like entrance into the unfolding events hardly did a person justice, after all. Crane - or, as most knew her, _that weird girl who sleeps in a park_ \- was, to put it simply, the only pure magus in the entire world. 

There’s quite a lot to be said about that, but, for the time being, it would be best to address her relationship to you.

You didn’t know Crane very well. It was quite hard to befriend a woman with about as much presence as the dead, after all, and her visits to you had always been businesslike. Resounding apathy consumed her life, luring her into a hazy, mythical sleep, and - even when woken - she didn’t have the demeanor for chatter. She offered her prophecies or - more accurately, her advice - to those who visited her park, and, it was something of an unspoken rule that magi were not to bother Crane unless the circumstances were dire.

She’d been brought to the city about two years ago, delivered to the Primus by a country magus who ran an apple orchard a number of miles from town. How he’d come to be in possession of her was anyone’s guess, but - less than a week after her arrival - she’d come fully and properly under the Primus’ care, with a special dispensation that anyone who did her even the slightest bit of harm would be personally introduced to his fist.

To be honest, his fist wasn’t really what people worried about - he was, as had been previously mentioned before, a _gigantic nerd_ \- but with his wrath came the ire of the Inquisitor, and there was no winning against Legbiter. Even if he spared you the sword, he had the unique ability to make the lives of those who crossed him absolute hell.

As warm as his smile was, he was capable of true, vicious pettiness when wronged.

So - most stayed away from Crane. Life was busy, and there wasn’t much time for a girl who only wanted to sleep - particularly when offending her could have such dire ramifications to one’s career. Not that she was someone who was easy to displease - in all of your interactions with her, you’d known her to pleasant and patient, if a bit… distant, odd, and with a notable air of continual melancholy.

She was the sort of person who only made calls for work, and often these were in the depths of the night, given her rather particular schedule.

Every night, she rose to meet the moon and wandered through dim, dreaming streets, bottling up sorrow and relieving the world of its troubles. In this way, Crane was one of the few people in the world who could offer succor from the Beast. That was one of the blessings her purity allowed for her.

Somehow, someway, Crane was the only magus in the world who had been born completely and absolutely incorruptible,

Describing the influence of magic as the ’Truth of Dreaming’ was hardly a coincidence. The dreams of magi have quite literal power, and never is a magus more vulnerable than in the soft, sweet embrace of sleep. In this state, the Beast can take hold of a wizard’s heart, making for a fitful sleep, a vile awakening, and - in some severe cases - allowing the realm of dreams to open up in a hideous, nightmarish fashion.

In the worst of nights, a magus could temporarily lose their sanity as they slipped into a craving for blood. Due to this, it was not uncommon for dear friends to stand guard over each other in times of trouble, guarding against nightmares and the influence of the Beast. Nor was it uncommon for the elderly and the troubled to seek the succor of the Inquisition should their sleep become fitful. Spaghorde’s doors had once been upon to such wayward souls… but, well.

That was six years in the past.

It was something that every community of wizards had to deal with in some form or fashion. In some places, it engendered traditions of hospitality and neighborly good will. In others…

...Things could become significantly more brutal.

The area surrounding the great mountain of Ebott was not one of those places, of course, though perhaps it was somewhat miraculous that it _hadn’t_ became a realm of heavy handed suspicion. For - and this was something of a _secret_ , one that was known to you by virtue of your old position at Spaghorde - this land…

...was cursed.

Queen Ranunculae - the great demon who damned the entirety of the magi - was sealed under the city, after all. It was only sensible that her influence subtly bled through the barrier.

The years after Spaghorde’s fall had been hard ones for the city, and, to be frank, the only reason that management of the domain hadn’t been turned over to some other organization was the Primus’ incredible skill with barriers and his blinding passion towards keeping his people safe.

Perhaps that information may make his extreme distaste for the monster’s arrival more sensible. Managing such a precarious situation had been hard enough already, after all. Luckily - right on the heel of the monsters - Crane had arrived.

Through her purity and her ability to dispel nightmares, she brought comfort to the city.

In this climate - of course Crane would become a distant figure, untouchable, like a prized gem in a jewelry box…

Or a golden bird in an iron cage.

How else could she endure the nights, otherwise?

With that in mind - for her to be walking forward, purpose in her step and alertness in her eyes… and for her to be looked upon with such affection as Papyrus watched her take command -

Was something truly, incredibly unusual.

Although - perhaps for a bizarre night like this - it was fitting.

“If you keep that up, you’ll never be able to walk again,” she chastised, putting her foot on the Inquisitor’s shoulder - although this was mostly a symbolic gesture, as he was far, far stronger than she could ever hope to be. For a moment, Undyne gaped at her - but, seeing that neither Papyrus or Crane were in danger - she quickly turned and stumbled into a run, headed for the outside world.

“Don’t care. Gotta find the Primus.” He did stop, though, amber eyes flitting between her, Papyrus, the retreating figure of Undyne - ...and the shadowed form of Sans lingering in the doorway.

After noticing he’d been noticed, Sans gave a _particularly_ large grin, but - still -  did nothing to affect the situation.

“I’ll find him. Papyrus will take you to Doctor Klein’s office.” Her order was simple, and - for a moment, Legbiter could only stare at her, taken completely off guard by the agency she was displaying.

“Crane, why are you…”

“The birds told me. I decided to listen.” She interrupted, then looked up at Papyrus. “Are you ready? He’ll tell you where to go.”

“OF COURSE!” Even as Legbiter protested, Papyrus kneeled down and hefted him up. A sharp hiss of pain slipped out of Legbiter, which, of course Papyrus apologized for. “SORRY, HUMAN!”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” Legbiter grumbled, draped across Papyrus’ shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He had, apparently, been successfully bullied into inaction. “...Keep him safe, Crane.”

“I will,” she promised, and she was being entirely truthful. Inquisitor Legbiter was a dead man without the Primus, after all. “Hurry, and do everything the Inquisitor asks, unless it sounds very stupid. Don’t do anything that sounds stupid.”

Papyrus grinned, somehow sunny despite his exhaustion. “ALRIGHT! I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU! SANS, DO YOU WANT TO RIDE WITH ME OR THE AMBULANCE - “

“He’s staying with me.” Crane looked over at the skeleton lounging against the wall, and then approached him, her bare feet making little sound against the floor. “I need his help.”

Papyrus paused in slight confusion - but, knowing that time was not on his side, he refrained from questioning it. “ALRIGHT! STAY SAFE!” And - with that, he set off, long strides carrying him off after Undyne.

As soon as Papyrus was gone, Sans’ smile dropped. “what the fuck are you doing,” he hissed, pushing himself out of his lounge. “why are you here? why did you bring Papyrus? _you know what could have happened! what are you -_ “

Smoothly, effortlessly, Crane placed her hands on Sans’ shoulders, interrupting him. “Our circumstances have changed.”

“...what?” he paused, tirade successfully quelled. “what do you mean?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Your brother needs our help.” 

“Paps? but he just left -- “

“No, Sans, your _other_ brother.”

If a skeleton could have blanched, Sans would have done so in an instant.


	17. And I Don't Need a Lecture on the Butterfly Effect!

It stared at the pair with an absent expression, its hair fluttering slightly in a nonexistent breeze. Larger than life was an appropriate descriptor as it stood a good head taller than even Gaster, and the flowers spilling around it dominated the room. It swayed for a moment before taking a single, clicking step forwards, and the air it carried with it was nothing short of oppressive.

Instinctively, the Primus retreated, the air catching in his throat. “Ranunculae’s familiar,” he breathed in that hollow moment. “How the fuck did you _get through the barrier?”_

This was primarily a rhetorical question - demons weren’t in the habit of being _helpful_  after all, and Gaster was certainly the most confused person in the room. The Primus only got his answer through his own insight and, in equal parts dawning comprehension and settling terror, he whispered, "Oh fuck, that's what she wanted the soul for."

“Primus? Should I…?” Gaster trailed off, realizing that questions were pointless. Something about the thing’s presence made it abundantly clear it was 'bad news' incarnate and, reflexively, Gaster pressed his back against the machine he was working with. He raised his hand, fingers splayed in the thing's direction, but terror kept him still, as if any slight prick of an action could cause the world to collapse in on itself.

 

It spoke then, as if there needed to be any more clarification that it was in a completely different class of being than the bone-creatures that had writhed out of the Forest Witch’s skin. Its voice was clear, masculine, each word finely enunciated - a compliment to its almost unearthly beauty. “Give me back my child.”

The Primus grabbed his brass knuckles, gripping onto them as tightly as the muscles in his fingers would allow. “Crawl back to that demon Queen of yours; there’s nothing here for you.”

It stared at them for a long, long moment, and the both of them waited in clear, palpable tension, hoping -  _praying - that_ it would find them too small to pay attention to.

That illusion shattered the second that its gaze slipped to the blackening, cracked soul hovering above your chest. It’s expression didn’t change, but there was something about its posture - a straightening of its shoulders, a slight turn at the waist - that conveyed its intent even before it spoke. “You lie. I’ll take what I am owed.”

The Primus charged forward even before it took its first step towards you, fist pulled back to drive metal into the shimmering fabric of its regal clothing. “You’re not owed a fucking goddamn thing!"

Now would be the appropriate time to state a very unfortunate fact.

There was a very, very big difference between punching a barrier and punching a demon. Only one of them would fight back - and, as it had been stated before, the Primus was the sort of person who ended up getting shoved in a locker. He could not - in any capacity - fight. So, it only made sense that - despite his passion, despite his fervor - the demon grabbed him with sickening ease, gripping him by the neck and heaving him off the ground. A choked gurgle emerged from his throat, and he writhed, kicking at the thing and the hollow hole in its chest.

The demon didn’t even flinch, simply slamming him into the wall in a gesture that, somehow, appeared nothing short of elegant. It turned, hair rippling, and settled its red gaze on your prone, dreaming body and, if nothing else had, that should had spurred Gaster into motion. He should have blasted that thing away then and there, with power born from experiments dark and dire.

 _Should_ being the key word there, because Gaster hadn’t yet intervened because of one nagging little detail. He still remembered the Cerebrum staring him down, and - with that amused expression - declaring that, that should he use any more magic, he would certainly kill you; the drain on your soul would just be _too much._  Now, this could have easily been the lies of a deceitful woman meant to terrify him into inaction, but the alternative - the idea that he could, with a misstep, shatter your soul - immobilized him. He stared as the Primus slid to the ground, hand trembling slightly as the familiar - as the Primus had named it - set its unholy sights on you.

Something clicked in him, and he swiped the vial of brimming red liquid out of its metal clasps before fumbling in search of a syringe. If he could just get you in slightly better condition, then maybe… _maybe -_ he could use his powers to to keep you safe. Whether he realized what he was doing or not, the Primus seemed intent on buying Gaster time. He pushed himself up with a gruff, snarling sound and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the thing’s waist and throwing his entire body back. Nothing mattered to him anymore - he would do anything to keep that demonic presence from claiming your beleaguered soul for its own.

It was forced a single step backwards, its monumental weight perceptibly shifted - and it turned those red, jewel-like eyes down to the Primus, piercing him with its gaze. This was a creature that was used to being bowed down to - and here, look, such an insignificant, maggot-like creature was trying to impede it from taking what it was rightfully owed.

How despicable.

Without a shift in expression, it grabbed onto the Primus’ arm and began to _crush,_ displaying a startling amount of strength in its practically elfen digits. Though he recoiled, he didn’t lose sight of his mission, and he grabbed onto the puff of its sleeve to hold it back. Gaster took the opportunity to scramble forward, forcibly stilling his hands as he cupped your soul between the bones of his fingers. It should be said - this was an absolute bastardization of medicine. The syringe he held, and the impreciseness with which he was forced to drive it into your heart - it was no better than the brutal sort of camp doctoring that was practiced in ancient wars.

It was painful, it was dangerous, it was inelegant - and Gaster hated himself for having to do this to you. His only comfort was that, if anything was right and just in the world, your sleep would keep you from feeling the searing pain of a needle being injected into the very core of your being.

He drove the plunger down, driving the red liquid into the darkening blackness of your soul. The effect was nigh-instantaneous, and the strange, gel-like substance bubbled up from the cracks, smoothing out and coating them over. Vibrancy spilled over the crystalline surface, filling it like a translucent capsule and brightening the grey into a garnet like hue. And yet - and yet, puzzlingly, that strange, crawling darkness didn’t fade. Like some sort of imperfect gem, your soul was threaded with black... like a droplet of dye splashed in red water.

Gaster realized the heart wasn’t a perfect curve, anymore. Dust had flaked off onto his fingers, and part of your soul laid crumbled on your chest. There wasn’t long for him to contemplate this, however, as a number of things happened in resoundingly quick succession.

One - the lights went out with a pop and a shatter of glass. The glow spilling from the buttercups wholly filled the room, and the sharp scent of cut grass and crushed petals choked the air.

Two - with a grotesque splatter, the Primus was kicked to the ground, huge claw marks rent into his chest by a thing that had shed all pretense of humanity. It had given itself to death, to flowers, to hate - and to the deep darkness behind the stars.

And - most unfortunately - three - yellow spilled off it as it turned, sharp and cutting, grabbing a hold of Gaster. Its grip was unrelenting - the very epitome of the divine right - and Gaster couldn’t even begin to fight back against the oppressive weight that consumed him.

See, Gaster had made a bit of a mistake, though… it’s fully understandable why he did so, for he was lacking so much of the knowledge necessary to understand the situation. To be honest, the appearance of Ranunculae - that great beast watching over the room - and, further, the interference of her spawn - could only really be explained if all involved parties sat down and had a chat. That would only happen if hell froze over, so honestly, there was no way for anyone to have predicted - or to have prevented - what occured when Doctor Gaster filled your soul with synthesized, concentrated Determination.

The Great Barrier hadn’t broken, not really - but the Cerebrum, using the soul of the Forest Witch and its resulting, poisonous Dream - had bridged the gap, connecting two _different versions_ of reality… or, in another, simpler way to put it, she’d bypassed the Barrier in its entirety. Barriers were intrinsically linked to the soul, after all; it was no coincidence that King Asgore needed the equivalent of seven human souls to shatter the barrier keeping the monsters imprisoned. It wasn’t just power he needed, but the power of the _soul_. Using that power, the Cerebrum had slipped through - and while the Forest Demon still lived, while that awful nightmare still consumed the castle… other things could pour out into the world.

But, wait. Wasn’t the nightmare over? Shouldn’t the castle have awakened? Shouldn’t this thing have been banished to its dark realm, since the Barrier wasn’t broken?

It would have been - had the Beast not sunk its teeth into you.

It wasn’t your fault; not really. The night had been too much, and it was nothing short of miraculous that you hadn’t devolved into monstrosity yourself. You were far more diligent that you gave yourself credit for… and Gaster’s presence had given you something to hold on to. But it’d been enough, and another demon had used you to gain purchase in the world. And… by giving your soul more power…

Gaster had, in effect, just made _it_ obscenely more powerful, allowing the nightmare to deepen

To translate all this into simple terms, it meant that everyone in the room was completely fucked. And, should it claim your soul, quite possibly the surrounding area as well. You’d been right in your concerns. By trying to save you, the Primus and Gaster had allowed a greater monster to be born.

Luckily, there were still some people in the world who believed in the defiance of fate, and their condemnations blazed with bright, blue fervor.

For once, Sans had arrived just in the nick of time.

The scream of light turned the room into a study of contrasts - of sharp shadows and mechanical lines obliterating the hazy, yellow glow. It was enough to get the creature to drop Gaster, and he tumbled into a pile of velvety goop. The scientist stared at the doorway, slack-jawed and uncomprehending as he took in his brother’s sudden appearance. It was petrifying. It was mesmerizing. But - as the beam of light started to taper off - and as the demon started to approach Sans, its shoulders set with malice - Gaster realized that _he better darn well do something._

Praying that the injection had been enough to save you - Gaster joined in the onslaught.

A smell like ozone filled the air, along with burned grass and something else too strange to name. A growling shriek emerged from its throat, and the flower-beast continued to lurch forward, the seam of its mouth split wide as light poured around it.

“woah, holy shit, wait your turn budd-- gk--!”

The glow from Sans’ blaster petered out as he only just barely rolled out of the way. In this place, he didn’t really know the rules - so he couldn’t bend them, change them, _cheat them_ to bolster his ability to dodge, and he found himself quite prone under a huge fist set to splatter his dust against the ground.

Gaster _dove,_ scooping his much smaller brother in his arms as he slid them both away in a screech of bone. They rolled together, Gaster keeping his arms tight around Sans’ chest, and as soon as he had proper purchase against the ground, he scooted back further, dragging his brother away from the beast. Though, truthfully, he didn’t need to go that far, as the demon’s attention was diverted away from them.

Crane hadn’t been idle, though she’d been _subtle -_ creeping along the edges of the room in her mission to reach you. She picked up a jar from the table - one of the now empty ones Alphys had used in her work - and started draining your soul of its corruption. It was much like bloodletting, though without the incision; her work was delicate enough to not require something like that and, as the conflict raged, a black, putrid jelly began to spill onto the bottom of the jar, leaving your soul cleaner for its absence.

Of course, the demon noticed the source of its power being tampered with, and it wasn’t particularly inclined to deal with insubordination. It turned sharply at its hellish parody of a waist, and its arm shot out, elongated nails coming to a point in a particularly spear-like fashion.

“crane!” Sans tried to warn, voice splitting with panic. However - dodging had never been her specialty. She had more of a… vegetative personality.

Gaster, though - dutiful big brother that he was- was a natural protector and, with a flick of his wrist, he angled his blaster, carving a streak of light that split the arm in two just before it reached her. The force sent it flying onto the ground a bit away, and it writhed and twitched at its sudden separation from its host. 

(Apparently, Gaster had a future in dismemberment.)

Panting, Gaster glanced down briefly at his brother, who he kept held in his lap with one arm. The other was still outstretched - and his fingers tightened as another burst of light began to brew in the jaws of his weapon. The eeriness of the room had started to fade, drawn out into Crane’s jar - and, simultaneously, the demon seemed to decide it had had enough. Its form collapsed in on itself as it dropped into a clump of glowing buttercups which soon lost their luminescence and, summarily, turned to ash.

The only light now came from the twin blasters still hovering in the room.

“huh. hadn’t expected to see that thing, again.”

Before anyone could say anything more, Gaster enveloped Sans in a smothering embrace, touching his forehead to the top of his brother’s skull. “ _Sans_ ,” he buzzed, in a voice practically like a sob.

Sans, notably, did not return the hug. “uh… hey, bro. uh. long time… no see.”

Gaster only hugged him tighter at that.

Despite the heartwarming nature of such a reunion, it was interrupted by a sudden realization.  _"Aegis!"_ Gaster cried out as he stood, and some part of him must not have been willing to release Sans, because instead of setting him aside or letting him climb off his lap, Gaster instead just… picked him up, letting him dangle from one arm rather like a sack of rice.

Apparently, Sans didn’t feel inclined to protest.

Gaster swept over to the table, looking down at you in the grim blue light. “What are you doing? Are they okay? Did -- “ trailing off in a frantic burst of static, Gaster looked down at you and your soul. Being seen by Sans hadn’t damaged it further, which only made sense - he’d never forgotten about what happened to his big brother, after all. That was the best thing that could be said about it, though. There was a strange blackness staining the interior - and a similarly strange sheen beading on its surface. A chunk was missing where the needle had gone in, and it glistened like a pus-ridden wound. And, though the cracks were being patched over... those other missing pieces remained.

At least it was no longer grey.

“I’m taking out the nightmare,” Crane explained, continuing to carefully drain the soul. “Also, I’m obligated to point out that I cannot actually understand you. I’m just assuming what you’re saying. Could you make sure the Primus isn’t bleeding to death? I’ll be done soon."

“Uh - um - er - what - ah - yes!” Gaster stuttered, putting Sans down before sweeping over to the half-conscious man.

Er. More like quarter-conscious. He was cognizant enough to grumble as Gaster dropped to a kneel beside him, but that was about it. Blood thoroughly stained his shirt, dripping down in streams and running across his chest. The wounds were severe - a quartet of deep marks that would, certainly, scar when they healed. Well. If he lived long enough for them to heal.

Gaster did his best to staunch the bleeding with what little he had available, and hoped that the tone of his voice would convey his meaning when he said, “We’ve got to get him to a doctor.”

“His condition is bad? To be expected, I suppose…” Crane spared a brief glance down at Sans, who was quietly watching his brother in the dim light. “I’m going to need more help.”

“you’re really working me to the bone, here,” he said with a sigh, and then put on his trademark grin. “i assume you need a shortcut?”

“Yes. I need you to get the four of you to Doctor Klein. It would be silly if we did all this work and had someone die from their injuries regardless.”

“...what do you mean, the _four_ of you?” Sans’ grin became considerably more pointed.

“I mean you, your brother, Two-Bit, and the Primus,” Crane's plain voice carried over the room as she worked.

“you think i’m going to let you stay _behind?_ ”

“Yes, you are. I need to keep anything from getting worse here, and - “ she strengthened her voice when she noticed Sans’ puffing up to protest. “We’ve already arranged for Papyrus to return here to retrieve me. It wouldn’t do to prevent that and possibly have him in a place where he might see Doctor Gaster, would it?”

Gaster looked up as he heard his name, but there wasn’t really anything he could add to the conversation. The best he could do was maintain the source of light in the room and keep the Primus from dying.

“...you’re a real pain in the butt, y’know?”

“I’m very well aware.” Crane winced, slightly, rubbing one of the odd, sweat-like droplets from the surface of your soul. It was a very good thing you were still passed out. “Oh, that’s not going to be good, later…”

“..i suppose this is a bad time to ask how you’re doing… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Sort of. Though, it’s not actually that complicated. Imagine the world is trapped inside the maze of the Beast, and I’m on the outside, looking in. It’s easier to manipulate something you aren’t a part of.”

“huh.” a pause. “i guess this has to do with your ‘perfect solution’ bullshit?”

“To a degree. You’re being very sulky right now.”

“i mean, i am kinda pissed off, yeah.” He watched as she picked up the jar in her gloved hands and began to screw on the lid. “you done?”

“I am.” She looked down at your body, and then lightly put her hand on your soul, easing it back into your chest. “For now. This is where we part for the night. I'm sorry, Sans. We'll talk later.”

“...” Sans sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, and turned his head to meet the baffled gaze of his brother. “hey, uh. so. we’re… going on a little trip, mind helping me carry these guys?”

Gaster stood immediately, walking over to the table and then scooping you up into his arms. His expression was tense, mouth drawn tight - but… you were breathing still, and your sleep looked less tormented. There was no one for him to pray to, not really, so he silently asked the stars to watch over you.

“...of course i get the asshole,” Sans grumbled, and a blue light enveloped the Primus’ form as Sans manipulated gravity in his favor. “alright, we’ve got the parade float - let’s get going.”

Gaster squinted at Sans and his rather macabre humor, but not being able to properly communicate was _really_ putting a damper on his ability to be an overbearing big brother. It emphasized the divide between them, and the entire experience left Gaster feeling queer and numb.

“hey Crane,” Sans said, back to the room as he paused in the doorway. “don’t do anything dumb.”

Crane didn’t reply. They both knew she already had.

Gaster looked back at her. Obviously, the light had to come with him, so she was only illuminated by the faint vestiges of a blue glow. There was a strange tilt to her mouth as she contemplated blood soaked table. For a moment, he watched, then looked down at you, there, in his arms… and he knew that, without her, that you’d be dead.

“Thank you,” he said, voice filled with emotion. “ _So_ very much.”

She looked over at him and nodded. His expression told her enough about what he was trying to say.

Gaster turned then and left, following after Sans - and Crane was left alone in the room.

She waited for one moment. Two. Then - in a rush of fabric - she dropped to her knees, her hands slipping under her mask to cover her face. This didn’t last long, however, as she soon had to bend over to retch, emptying the contents of her stomach - which was, mostly, half-digested berries and the remnants of Papyrus’ spaghetti.

She wiped at her mouth and then, breathing heavily, sat down on her legs. Interference had its costs, and there was no possible way she could have known about Gaster or his relationship to Sans.

Her figuring it out had be an act of flagrant disobedience to the natural order of things.

 

* * *

 

A semicircle of windows shone on her as she stood there, and Bear took his place behind her on the steps leading up to the altar. Neither of them said a word as she rolled up her sleeve, revealing the patterned scarring trailing up her skin. It was strikingly occult in nature - curved lines, odd sigils, and geometric shapes arranged in an arcane manner. Across her forearm, a burn carved its way through the ritualistic marks, but apparently it didn’t disturb the overall effect as it had never been corrected.

Bear’s mouth tightened when he saw them, but he didn’t seem surprised.

A ring was held in her still human hand, a golden wedding band that was a memento of ages past. She rolled it across her thumb and set it on the altar, breathing out a heavy whoosh of air. From here, she could dream deeper. From here...

Bowing her head, she she placed her palms on the stone of the altar… and everything went to hell.

" _Damn it! No!”_ The Cerebrum spoke the first words that had been uttered here in hundreds of years, and she grabbed a knife - a strange thing, made with a crystal blade. Desperately, she cut into her skin, but it was far too late. If Papyrus had been just a few minutes later - if Alphys hadn’t cracked the witch’s soul - if a million and one things hadn’t happened, perhaps the Cerebrum would have completed her work behind the barrier that night. But as it stood, just as victory was in her grasp - whatever that victory might be - everything was ripped from her, and she suddenly found herself in a dark place. The light was gone, and, with it, so was that ancient place.

With the death of the Forest Witch, that hole was closed - and she couldn't remain there in that world. The Grand Order forbade it, and the Great Barrier threw her out.

She growled in rage, blood striking the grass as dropped to her knees and pummeled a fist into the ground. “Damn it!” she wailed, voice cutting through the air. “Damn it all!” Color had returned to her - and she looked human once more, the beastly arm slipping away to leave her a battered, middle aged woman.

Without hesitating, Bear rushed to her side, dropping to his knees behind her. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

“No! We were so close! Now the Primus and his damn lackey are involved, and things are going to get messy again.”

“We could force a reset,” Bear suggested, and the Cerebrum shook her head in discontent.

“No. We only do that in emergencies. We can still salvage this,” she assured Bear and herself along with it. She held the golden ring between her thumb and forefinger, and she closed one eye to squint through it at the tapestry of stars above. It seemed like she was trying to find her good humor once more. “We have this, at least.”

“It looks… so small,” he commented, looking over at her and her face in profile.

“Obviously. It's a wedding ring. It's not like Ranunculae was a giant.” She pocketed it before trying to roll her sleeve back down with her teeth. Losing an arm apparently didn’t seem to mean very much to her.

“...Here,” Bear mumbled, reaching out. “Let me.”

“Oh, come now. I can take care of myself.”

Bear didn’t bother to state the obvious.

 

* * *

 

And that - for all intents and purposes - was the end of that hellish night. Through various machinations, most had survived - though the costs to be paid for those lives would be revealed in time. Most interesting to note though, is how easy it would have been for things to go very, very differently.

The Cerebrum had already pointed out one quirk of fate: your involvement in the situation. Why had you even been there that night? Because you’d noticed something bizarre during your earlier visit to Castle Spaghorde, and that thing you subconsciously knew wouldn’t leave you be, not until you’d satiated your heroic instincts. But… goodness, why had you even noticed in the first place?

Wasn’t Castle Spaghorde a place you avoided like that plague? What on earth would have put you in a position to pay it a visit?

Why - because you wanted to bare your heart to Doctor Gaster, of course, and so you took him to see the place of your youth. And so, with that, you’d arrived there that night, and you’d saved Frisk from giving up in the face of an unconquerable fate.

...But wouldn’t that all have been useless had the Primus and Legbiter not made a timely arrival? The Cerebrum had - for all intents and purposes - won at that point. Without outside interference, your brave actions would have ended in tragedy. Your soul would have cracked, Gaster would have been useless, and Frisk and Alphys would probably have been killed by the rampaging demon.

The only thing that prevented that was the interference of those foreign agents - Legbiter and Undyne, who fought the demon, Toriel, who saved Alphys and Frisk… and the Primus, to convince Gaster to do something desperate and foolhardy to save you.

Of coure, the monsters had only gained access to the castle by way of the Primus’ skill with barriers. But why had The Inquisitor and Legbiter even been there? Because they were suspicious of Frisk, right? Suspicious of that child, their motivations, and of some plan they might have concocted with Asgore.

...What made them suspicious in the first place?

_Wasn’t it Gaster?_

And - let’s go further. What had convinced Sans to intervene? What had Crane used to coax him out of the despair of another time loop? (For, though it’s not been said bluntly before this point - imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for him, to get his freedom, to have his happy ending, to escape the endlessly repeating time of the Underground at the hands of that flower - _and he got stuck in another one two years after being on the surface._ )

Sans was content to do nothing. What would be the point? What would be the point of anything? Frisk was just going to reset again - or so he thought, not truly understanding the state of that child’s heart.

But what had brought him out of it?

_Your brother needs you, Sans._

And - now, let us take a look at the playing board.

Because of that night, the Primus had been forced to choose between his suspicion of monsters and the life of one of his own, and now he would have to confront that only through knowledge of the soul was your life preserved.

Because of that night, the beginnings of a friendship had been formed between two opposing parties - that is, the bond between Inquisitor Legbiter and Royal Captain Undyne, for whom the shine of mutual heroism had cut through the political divide.

Because of that night, Alphys had overheard some… interesting things about her friend - and it’s doubtful how long some secrets would be kept hidden.

Because of that night, a child who could believe in nothing had their prayers answered, and maybe, possibly, Sans had something to hope for

The pieces were coming together, and despite how reality had tried to reject him, Doctor W. D. Gaster existed in this timeline.

Isn't it funny how one person can change the entire world?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY
> 
> FINALLY THE SPAGHORDE ARC IS OVER
> 
> If you haven't read it, now would be a perfect time to take a break and go read Papyrus Dates a Bird, the second fanfic in this series. It'll provide some context to some of the things that happened here with the skeleton brothers - though, don't feel obligated if you aren't interested. The important bits will be explained here, too.
> 
> Eventually.


	18. This is the Lakeview General Hospital Speaking!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually only the first part of what I intended to be Chapter 18, but school has been kicking my butt and I wanted to get something up. Hopefully - since I have part of the next section written already - I'll be able to update the next bit within a few days.

You woke up to a sickeningly bright world of artificial light and blank, eye-searing white. It was alien, unsettling, sterile, oppressive - and, seeing your father there, with his golden fur and his soft, cream-colored features, well… The contrast was stark enough to bring you near to tears.

Or, maybe that was just because of the dizziness and the drugs and the fact that - upon waking - the first scene that flashed in front of your eyes was of being stepped on and shot by -

By…

By her.

But dad was there, dad was by your cold bedside and, as soon as he saw your eyes open, he called your name softly and cradled your face in his paw. Choking a bit, you reached over in return, tightly grasping onto its soft warmth. He was there. He was _there._

Dad breathed heavily for a moment, sliding off the chair he had been hunched in and dropping to his knees by the hospital bed. Gently, he nudged your hair with his snout - and you felt the care in the gesture, the warm love, the _delicacy._ It was so strange, knowing this side of him now, when…

“How are you feeling?” You clung onto the sound of his voice - one of the few comforting things in the sterile room.

Everything felt hazy - a combination of painkillers and exhaustion, to be sure, and you couldn’t summon up the energy to gesture more eloquently than a simple _bad._

Dad accepted it with a weak laugh, lightly tracing a claw through your fluffy hair. “My apologies. That was a silly question.” He paused, then, in a soft scrape of restrained fear, asked, “Is Chara… Are they alright?”

Your head tilted slightly on the pillow, drawn to the figure sitting by the window. They didn’t look at you, the edges of their face framed by dusky afternoon. It was probably around five or sick o’clock.

 _Chara?_ You prompted, and there was no response.

It made you wonder what you were narrating this all this _very fine literature_ for. You’d been shot, and you were still going out of your way to make everything nice and pretty, so some gratitude would be nice.

_Chara. Chararara. Chara-bara-bo-bara._

Silence. You looked at your dad and shook your head, signing [sulking] with a grimace -

_I’m not SULKING I am REASONABLY UPSET BY THE SITUATION. You let yourself get hurt and you didn’t stick to the plan AND YOU GAVE UP, you gave up, Frisk, on mother, on father, on Asriel, on, on --_

_And now, you’re just - now you’ve got the audacity to make_ jokes? _How do you have the nerve? This is something I expected from_ Asriel, _not you!_

Hi, reasonably upset by the situation. I’m dad.

You experienced a bout of uncomfortable, piercing silence.

_You know, that kind of loses its impact when its you narrating that, Chara._

_Chara?_

You sighed, and noticed dad trying to communicate with you - and that he was brushing the soft pads of his hands against your cheek, wiping away something hot and wet. Oh. Huh. When had you started crying? Wow, look at these oscillating moods! Was this euphoria? Despair? It seemed like you couldn’t hold onto a single emotion for more than five seconds. And Chara wouldn’t talk to you, either! This was great. Everything was going really well.

_Stop trying to make me feel bad for you, Frisk! I’m angry with you!_

Well. Even though you were currently a confused, hysterical mess, at least dad was there for you, speaking to you softly and cradling your head as he nuzzled you with his snout. “Shh, shh, my child - my children, shh. It’s alright now. You’re safe. I’ll... ah, 'text' Toriel soon and let her know you’ve awakened, and all of your friends will rush over because they, too, are all safe. Everything is alright.”

You knew he was lying.

_Chara._

A sweet, comforting lie.

_Chara, please talk to me._

You GAVE UP on us!

You hiccuped. Snot poured out of your nose, and dad got you a tissue. You thanked him with your hands, because anything else was too hard, and tried to sort yourself out.

For some reason, the flowers piled up on the bedside table stood out to you particularly - a sprawling bouquet of big, bright daisies, with a little card attached that said, in big, bold letters - PAPYRUS. Scrawled over it in blue was UNDYNE. Written in a little corner was Alphys, and - oh, there you were, crying harder now.

You’d thought you could protect them.

Dad didn’t really seem to know what to do, other than keep nuzzling your face. You were glad of it, though - it helped. It gave you something to physically grasp on to - in both a real and emotional sense - and slowly, it eased you into a feeling of... not quite calmness, but close enough. It didn't quite feel like the world was ending, anymore. Eventually, you collected yourself enough to actually properly use your hands. Lightly, you bapped the side of dad's face with your knuckles, getting his attention - and, as he looked over, you flicked your fingers into motion.

[I’m ok now. What happened? Was anyone hurt?]

Asgore made a deep, thoughtful grumble in his throat,and for a moment, a vibrant spike of worry coursed through you. Then. “I don’t know the details fully myself; you’d have to ask Toriel. Undyne was harmed fighting a massive… creature - a demon, you called them?”

You nodded swiftly, confirming his terminology. He spoke of thaumaturgy like a grandfather would speak of VCRs, and the tone in his voice made you feel… Safe. Like… this wasn’t all threatening and terrifying and you weren’t fighting for the good of the entire world.

It grounded this entire affair in reality.

“Yes. She was injured, but is, ultimately, well. I’m given to understand the person aiding her was not as fortunate, however.”

 _Legbiter_ , you thought, and you could feel Chara stiffening in fear at the name.

_I’m not -- he -- I’m not scared of him!_

Well, let’s imagine a world where you were both scared of him, then. In that world, it wouldn’t be embarrassing, considering it was only natural to be scared of people who had killed you before. Although… actually, you supposed that your current friend group also entirely consisted of people who had, at one point, tried to murder you, so, hey. Maybe that was just how you did things.

“He’s going to be alright! Or so I’ve heard,” Dad quickly added, apparently realizing how grimly he’d put that. “Though he’ll be off his feet a considerable amount of time. Papyrus apparently saved the day… goodness, I knew that boy was keen, but, well. No one died, though the Primus and the Inquisitor’s injuries were considerable.

You made a soft, contemplative noise, and dad continued to tell you of what he had heard about that night - about the actions that lead up to your rescue, and about how mom fully intended to have a nice little sit-down tea when the Primus was a little less… almost dead, to figure out what the darn diddly heck was going on. Your words, not his. Well. Some of them were your words. (Now that you were starting to calm down a bit, you were remembering how nice being on painkillers was. Sort of like eating monster food, but less… sticky.)

The ramifications of all of this were making your head swim. You _would_ say you needed to sit down, except, well. You were lying down. In a hospital bed. You couldn’t really tell if you were still freaking out at all about that. This had sort of become par for the course, after all.

Regardless of all that, the thought of mom talking to _them_ made your skin crawl, because you didn’t _want_ them involved, you didn’t _want_ them anywhere near you, they --

 _Mages are evil,_ you heard Chara say distantly from the window.

That was still a topic open for discussion, but yes, you validated Chara’s feelings that _wizards were scary._

You thought for a moment. Asgore was looking at you - searching, contemplative. “I’m… so sorry I couldn’t be there for the both of you,” he began carefully. “Why didn’t you… call me? I would have rushed to your aid.”

You were silent for a moment. You really didn’t want to tell him what you and Chara had been planning - so you said the next best thing. [You’ve died there before. I was afraid.]

“Oh,” he said, heaving out a miserable sigh. “...I’m so, so sorry. The responsibility given to you by having the powers that you do… It shouldn’t be yours to bear. I wish I could be of more aid.”

[You’re doing everything you can, and that’s enough.] You were being honest, actually - having someone who was _always_ on your side, no matter what, who would do _anything_ for you, who would trust you completely… and who understood that time wasn’t always a nice, straight line… well, that was such a blissful, comforting relief

Also, he wasn’t constantly trying to tear down your ego like Flowey was, which went to show how low your standards had gotten.

_Pft._

Oh, was that a chuckle you heard?

Mm. Guess not.

You took deep breaths, trying to think - and, finally, you decided to try to put your thoughts into words. [Dad, something happened. Something that changes things.]

He peered at you, those big, dark eyes of his wide. “What is it?”

[I…] You paused. [Did something. Something that I can’t tell you about, yet, but I was hoping to change things… and I did. Chara and I - we were in a lot of trouble. And… because of… that thing I did, something new happened. I met someone that I’ve never seen before. I think that maybe they can help us.]

_Wait -- are you going to tell him about W. D. Gaster?_

Er, not quite. You wanted to get more information about the other one, actually.

_WHAT. FRISK. THAT PERSON WAS A MAGUS, WE’VE TALKED ABOUT THIS. A LOT. NO MAGI._

But they saved us! They were _so cool!_

 _Wizards are bad! They’re_ evil! _And if they’re not evil, they either go and die on you when you need them the most, or they’re just profoundly unhelpful, like that idiot bird! There is literally nothing good that can come of this._

You noticed that dad was saying something, so you waved slightly in the gesture you both had for ‘hi, sorry, a lot is going on in my head right now, give me a minute’, and then pointed out to Chara that some good had already come of it. Without that person, you’d both be dead. Also, you asked them to look you dead in the eyes and say, with complete honesty, that they hadn’t been _super badass._

_…_

Did you just say dot-dot-dot, Chara. Did that actually happen.

_F r i s k. I’m mad at you!_

Yes, yes, we’ve established that. Look. We just watched the Cerebrum get her butt _handed to her_ by that Gaster guy. We did something she didn’t expect. And, that person who saved us? _They_ weren’t someone she expected, either. Actually… didn’t she seem kind of upset? Like, I was sort of in searing agony, so it’s difficult to tell, but I think fighting that person actually put her off guard.

 _...I… was preoccupied by other things, at the time, but, yes. Okay. Granted. She seemed to know them. Which, I should point out, only makes that person_ more _untrustworthy and dubious._

Oh, come on. They, like, were super Undyne about the whole thing. Anyway -

_Did you just use Undyne as an adjective?_

Yes. What of it?

_I can’t… actually believe you._

Look. Stop judging me, I’m on like -- I don’t know. Did I mention these painkillers are great? Because they’re _great._

_You -- ugh! No! I’m not doing this! I’m not going to banter with you like everything is okay!_

Chara -

_No! I’m! I’m mad! I’m going to stay mad, okay? So - so drop it, drop this, stop this, and just… just… leave me alone. Please._

Chara, I’m sorry.

I’m so, so sorry. I - I should have… There are a lot of things I should have done. When I heard Alphys had been kidnapped, I panicked. When, just, oh, here’s _another_ new thing, she’s doing things _faster,_ I - I got really upset. This is hard, you know? In the Underground it was easy to manipulate the timeline to do what we wanted because everything stayed the same - well, basically - but here? Each loop, she makes it so _different_ and it’s so hard to keep _track of_ and it all feels so _hopeless_ and I don’t know what to do.

I’m starting to wonder if we can actually beat her without anyone dying. Without her killing anyone important to us. And - and I started letting myself wonder, well, okay. Who could I stand to lose? If it means everyone else can be happy… could I let… could I let Alphys get killed? Could I let Undyne? Could I let…

…

...You know?

And then - when you wanted to kill _her,_ I -- … I don’t…

It reminded me of all that _stuff_ we did and how…

…

_Hey, uh, you’re crying again._

I’m aware. Hah! Oh, I bet this must be great for dad to watch. By great I mean awful. That was sarcasm. I was being sarcastic.

Anyway! Let’s gloss over my emotional problems for now. Chara, I’m sorry I gave up on you. I know this is really hard for you, too. I know we need to stick together. I know I can’t abandon you.

But, um. What we’re doing isn’t working, so I think we need to get creative. And that person? Maybe… is the creativity we need.

_If they survived. They weren’t doing so great when we left._

Okay. Yes. Fair. We’ll ask dad. If not, we can try again.

...But please. They were _super_ cool. Like, that was some straight anime protagonist stuff, right there! Like -- did you see that lighting? That dramatic timing? So cool!

_...I… was… Okay. I’ll admit it. They were - on the surface - really cool._

Believe me, I understand your reluctance here. You’re afraid of trusting them, for pretty good reasons, since… uh… wizards are scary! But, hey, think of it this way - what are the consequences of trying it out? None, basically, we can just… Keep resetting time! But it’s something new, and new is good.

So… do you… agree with my plan? If they survived, we can go find them, and Gaster too, and try to get their help?

You waited patiently for Chara’s reply.

 _Okay. Fine. But - only them, okay? Don’t trust_ anyone _else._

...Even Many-Names?

_Especially them. Getting them involved never goes well, and I don’t think we should risk it._

Okay. Fair enough. I don’t really want to, either. So! Let’s talk to dad?

_Let’s talk to dad. And - … I… I’m sorry too, Frisk._

Basking in the warm glow of reconciliation, you tilted your head back in dad’s direction - oh, gosh, he’d been wiping your face for you, that’s embarrassing. He looked so incredibly relieved when you finally came back out of your head, and you butted your cheek against his paw in affection. [Dad], you began to sign before he could speak. [Did you hear anything about a person named… A-E-G-I-S?]


	19. But the Hold Music is Pretty Nice, I Guess.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some introductions are made - and Legbiter reveals a secret.

In a small, pastel blue kitchen, three people held their quiet counsel.

“You need to sleep, Klein,” a woman said to her son, folding wrinkled hands over each other as she leaned forward. She had clearly aged, being, perhaps, in her sixties or so, with chubby, warmly colored cheeks and a short, heavy-set figure. Like the walls, her dress was also blue - but it was firm, vibrant, standing resolute against the dull shadows flickering around the corners of the room. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re tired.”

Doctor Klein - preeminent magus physician of the mountain-shadowed city and a man permanently given to exhaustion - sighed and took off his glasses, wiping them on the soft cloth of his shirt. “I’m fine, mom,” he grumbled, replacing the black frames with a grimace. His hair was dark, much like the coffee steaming in the mug before him - except for the bright patch of blue that consumed his bangs. “And I’m the best at bones. There’s still so much we need to do, and if I fuck up even a little bit, we’re basically down an Inquisitor.”

The Azure Mother sighed, resting her chubby face on her hand. “Language, Klein, and you’ll be more likely to make a mistake if you’re tired. Go to  _ bed. _ ”

“Look. Let me just… prepare more of the disinfecting salve for tomorrow - we’re running very low.”

“I can make it,” Azure said as she waved vaguely, and Klein rubbed at his face.

“ _ You _ need to keep an eye on Two-Bit. Something could happen at  _ any _ time, and -- “ He trailed off, and all three of them spared an uneasy glance at the room they’d designated as  _ yours _ for the duration of your… visit.

However long that was going to be. It was hard to tell, given the circumstances. 

The third member of the table spoke up, steelping her hands. She - in sharp contrast to her wife - was a tall woman, profoundly thin, with a long face and sharp, regal eyes. Where Azure was the warm, comforting blue of the sky, Lazuli was regality - blue as a holy object, tiled onto graven images of the gods and ground into the ultramarine that adorned the holy mother. In that way, they both drew their power from blue - Lazuli of the ancient powers and Azure of the gentle, modern rapture of the sky. “You’ve had no luck with him, I suppose?”

“None.” Azure checked her tea and found it cool enough to drink. “Won’t eat, won’t sleep, and certainly won’t leave their side. It’s a touch romantic.”

“It’s unbearable!” Klein whined - he was thoroughly a modern man, and had no patience for the deep, passionate emotion typical of Gothic novels. He wanted things to be clean. Well kept. Orderly.  _ Polite and restrained. _ “We should just drag him out, then put them in containment until we can figure out what’s going on.”

Azure gave Klein a flat look. “Your bedside manner is atrocious.”

_ “Being murdered in our sleep by a demon would also be atrocious,  _ and let’s be honest here, that soul plus their…  _ prior experiences _ makes for a particularly vile brew. I think it’s fair to be nervous!” He flicked his fingers in the direction of his unamused looking parents. “And the first thing they’ll get a hold of if they  _ turn _ in the middle of the night is fresh, sweet monster dust.”

Lazuli sighed. She knew her son had a point - particularly since, should the worst happen, they’d have very little protection. Most of the Inquisition was… very busy, at the moment. But. “Nothing seems going wrong… besides the obvious. Their dreams are peaceful, though they’ve been sleeping for days. And…” She glanced at Azure, who continued for her.

“To be frank, his presence might be helping. They sound like they’re very important to each other, after all, although…”

There was a pause among the three as a single unsaid thought was shared.  _ I wish he wasn’t a monster. _ Though it would go forever unvoiced… that pervasive worry still lingered in their hearts.

(What if he tried to do something more to your soul and they lost you?)

Klein pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. There’s _too much_ going on for me to sleep. We have to fix the Inquisitor, get the Primus up and going, somehow fix whatever absurd _nonsense_ happened to Two-Bit, all the while doing it quickly and quietly so no one realizes that anything’s wrong. There are plenty of people who would _love_ to make a grab for power should the opportunity arise, and most of them are morally defunct reprobates like Donna Calligaris or, y’know. _The dragons_ , who’d rather that we all be driving horse-and-buggies or something.” 

He paused slightly in his rant, his tone gentling. “Look. This is important. I want Bluebell to grow up in a city that actually  _ cares _ about him, and if a couple of days of lost sleep will do anything to help with that, then, well.” He leaned back in his chair. “I can  _ manage. _ ”

“Sweet of you to say,” came a gruff voice from the doorway. All three gazes snapped to the figure leaning there, and Doctor Klein stood, his expression positively stormy.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you doing up?” He gesticulated at the Primus, who was covered with stitching, bandages, and various ointments, salves, and dyes that made up the patterning of the Blue Doctors’ work. “You’ll reopen your wounds!”

“Klein! Language,” Azure scolded, and then turned her Firm, Motherly gaze to the Primus. “Though I do agree. You shouldn’t be up.”

“Need to use your phone. Mine’s not working.” His face was positively ashen, and his voice didn’t carry it’s characteristic weight. Frankly, he looked like he could be knocked over with a stiff breeze. As he rested his weight against the frame of the door, though, his expression was resolute.

“For what?” Lazuli peered at him, and the Primus sighed.

“What do you  _ think? _   I need to check in with someone. Look, I know I’m being a pain in the ass, but there are things I need to do, alright? For the safety of everyone in the city.” He glanced at Klein. “No sense in patching me up if I can’t do my job for you.”

(Of course, this was a bit of a lie, but, well. They didn’t need to know his plans.)

The two women could see Klein buckle - and Lazuli dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement. “Next time, please call for us, but, yes. It’s in the next room.” 

She stood, but Klein waved her to sit. “I can show him. C’mere." He pushed his chair before reaching out to support the Primus with his arm.

He glowered. “I can  _ walk. _ ”

“You were mauled by a demon, no you can’t, also, shut up.” Klein adjusted his glasses with a finger, and the Primus gave up. He’d lost too much blood to be stubborn about something so trivial, and accepted the support as they both made their way out of the room.

There was quiet for a moment, and the Mothers of Blue looked at each other.

“It’s always trouble, isn’t it?” Azure said softly, looking down to her tea. “That Spaghorde business, that little village down the way - Somerset, was it? ...And all that hubbub about the great Barrier - gosh. Was that twenty years ago, now? The time sure flies…”

Lazuli put a single, wrinkled hand on Azure’s greying hair, petting it lightly. “The doctors see all the world’s ills, love. Don’t take it to heart. The city will be fine, and the magi will persevere - as we always have.”

Azure let a little smile slip onto her features - she hadn’t the face for grimness, after all. “It’s funny, how you’ve always been the optimistic one.”

Her wife shrugged in reply. “The world keeps spinning, despite our folly. Only a god could halt its turn - and these… are all the problems of men.”

 

* * *

 

It had been four days, and Gaster had turned into an absolute wreck.

Not that you were dead, mind - you were so  _ alive, _ yet, at the same time, so sickeningly still, your chest rising and falling softly as you slept. Watching it filled him with both relief and dread - a conflicting concoction that, ultimately, boiled the pit of his stomach with despair.

He stayed with you, keeping a continual vigil over your sleeping form. Occasionally, he would ease your soul out of your chest, cradling it in his hands, and each time he thought how  _ filthy  _ they looked compared to the red glow of your heart. But, it never changed, no matter how hard he looked; cracked and chipped and oddly glistening, like it was trying to sweat some sort of poison out.

He’d done this to you.

Bowing his head and settling his fingertips on your chest, he knew that  _ he’d done this to you _ \- and he had no idea what you’d be like when (if!) you woke up. 

The culmination of your entire being - and he’d  _ fragmented  _ it with his mistakes. Would… you still be you? Would you -

...Would you be like that flower? That soulless creature? The thought of you having to suffer that kind of indignity… of your feelings being reduced to ash, of your love crumbling within your breast… It tore at him. And - as he eased himself down, leaning his back against the side of the bed you rested on - he realized that he had never hated himself more than he did at that moment. Why did he think he could be saved?

Didn’t he know that he kept  _ fucking up _ and bringing everything to ruin?

Gaster sighed in abject misery, resting his forehead on his knees in the quiet, dimly lit room - only looking up when the door cracked open with a muted creak. He recognized the woman framed by the doorway quite well by now - she’d visited many, many times, and had, without fail, tried to get him to eat something before tending to your injuries.

Like now, he thought, eyeing the tray that she had in her hands. 

He stood as she entered, meaning to hold the door open for her - but Azure had already shut it behind herself with her foot, turning her warm smile to him. “You can rest in the other bed if you’re tired, you know.”

Gaster glanced briefly at the empty cot standing a few feet away from him. He hadn’t touched it once in the time he’d been here with you. Was it self-flagellation… or was he just that desperate to remain as close to you as possible?

Even he did not know the answer.

Azure seemingly didn’t mind his lack of reply, settling herself in front his towering form of dripping shadow and continuing to speak. “I’ve brought some food for you. Do you think you’ll feel like going outside, today? It really is lovely out.”

Gaster shook his head, folding his hands behind his back, and Azure’s smile only faltered for a moment before she strengthened the expression and set the tray on the end table beside your bedside. He glanced at the meal briefly - a sandwich, some oranges, profoundly healthy fare - but it didn’t appeal to him at all.

He did take note of the pad of paper beside the plate, though, and he reached over to pick it up along with the pencil tucked into the spiral binding.  _ Thank you, _ he scribbled on the first sheet.  _ I needed a new one. _

There was little he felt up to other than writing and hating himself, and given that the latter wasn’t really a productive use of his time, he tried to save that for periods of indulgence. Not that he had any concrete leads on his work - all he could do at the moment was write notes about your soul, scribble down theories… and pray that he could find some way to fix the damage he had done by existing.

“Of course.” A pause, and she looked around him at your sleeping form. “...The Inquisitor and the Primus asked to speak with you.”

Gaster paused at that, though, really, he wasn’t surprised. It was more surprising that this hadn’t happened sooner.  _ Now? _   he wrote on the pad of paper, showing it to Azure.

“It seems to. I’m sure it won’t be long, dearie, and I’ll change their bandages while you’re away.”

He gave you a somewhat unhappy look - but nodded anyway. There was really no refusing the request, and… 

Well.

He assuredly had to face up to what he had done. Their judgement was well-deserved; the Primus had trusted him to fix you, and...

Well.

After taking a moment to compose himself, he offered Azure a small smile and walked over to the door, easing it open with a small motion. As he left - he didn’t spare a single glance to the food still on the table.

Doctor Klein was waiting outside, sitting at the kitchen table. Well - more precisely, he happened to be working there, brewing some mixture or another, and he waved vaguely as he heard the door open. “That way, to your right - the door should be open. I don’t know what they want, but if it’s stupid, tell me and I’ll hit them.”

That mental image almost made Gaster laugh. Almost. Instead, he drifted off, capable of following basic directions, at least.

The room that met him was resoundingly familiar, mostly because it was styled exactly like yours, except with a window letting in cheerful rays of summer light and pleasant, warm breeze. Azure had been speaking the truth; it did look lovely. But he didn’t have long to contemplate it because, as soon as the Primus saw him in the doorway, he motioned him over from the bed he was sitting up in. “Good, you’re prompt. Close the door.”

Feeling the weight of his sins upon him, Gaster eased it shut, and turned to face his judgement.

“Wonderful.” Gaster was taken aback at his…  _ chipper _ tone, and also by how he pushed himself off of the bed, wobbling a little before he straightened himself on the wall. “Well, then, I’ll be off. Have fun, you two, and, if worst comes to worst and they decide to check in early, just.. come up with a good lie.  _ Oh, he just went to the bathroom _ might work.”

“What?” Gaster buzzed, and was summarily ignored.

“The bathroom.  _ Really, _ ” Lebgiter drawled, clearly not happy with any aspect of the current proceedings. He, however, couldn’t properly protest, considering that - not only was his entire leg firmly splinted, but he was also literally  _ strapped to the bed...  _ possibly so he wouldn’t disturb any of the strange designs sketched onto his skin with red ochre.

“Look, shut up. Anyway, figure out something, you’ll have at least an hour before they even think to bother you.”

The Primus was in the middle of easing himself to the window when Legbiter called out, “Hey.” 

Furrowing his brow, the Primus slowly approached - hobbling over like an old man in need of a cane. Motioning slightly, Legbiter beckoned him closer, and closer still - and once he was in reach, the Inquisitor grabbed onto the neck of the Primus' shirt, dragged him close, and kissed him directly on the mouth.

One long moment. Two. Then, the Primus heaved himself away from Legbiter's mouth, scrambling back in a panic. “Wh-What the  _ fuck, _ ” he hissed, clearly blushing as he pointed an indignant finger at Gaster - the first time anyone had acknowledged him during the entirety of this bizarre conversation. “ _ We have company!” _

Lebgiter grinned as her let his hand fall to the bed again, though something was a little  _ pointed _ about it. “You’re leaving me behind to do something stupid and dangerous; you didn’t think I’d want  _ something _ before you left?”

“I -- “ He only flushed deeper in indignation. Luckily - or perhaps not? - a voice from the side interrupted them both.

“Ach, are you two done?” the woman's voice was accented, a slight roll to her _r_ 's and a particular way of pronouncing her  _ a _ ’s placing it as somewhat Scottish. Her grin was positively catlike, teasing in a somewhat cruel way, and framed by disastrously bright-red hair and leather, high-crowned hat. She leaned on the sill of the window, tapping a gloved finger impatiently on the white paint. “Hope you didn’t ring me into the city for  _ this.” _

“Of course not, Rust.” He backed away from Legbiter, almost as if he was a man trying to escape an angry tiger. “Thank you for coming. Let’s. Let’s be off.”

She laughed - a low, dark sound that was… deeply unsettling, somehow, even as she stood in the sunlight. The Witch of the Junkyard always seemed like she know just a  _ little bit more _ than those around her. “Right, then, I’ve no interest in bein’ caught up in quarrels. Need help climbin’ out, Mincemeat?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” the Primus grumbled, sparing a glance back at Legbiter as he stuck one leg out the window. “...I  _ will _ be back soon, I promise.”

“Mhmm.” That rather particular smile remained on the Inquisitor’s face, and he watched the Primus climb out the window - followed by a thud and some soft swearing.

Rust's face came into view once more. “I’ll have ‘im back by teatime, luv,”   she said, right before easing the window shut and disappearing from the glass.

“Well!” Legbiter’s smile practically  _ sparkled _ as he turned to look at the profoundly confused looking Gaster. “That was fun.”

“What,” he dinged, just… looking between Legbiter, the now empty bed of the Primus, and the window. “ _ What. _ I thought you wanted to talk to me? What was -- ?”

“Ah, you’re probably confused.” Legbiter beckoned him over, gesturing to the Primus’ empty bed and indicating that he could sit if he so desired. “The Primus has some… aha.  _ Work _ that he needs to get done - work that, to be honest, he’s far too injured to be doing, but. You know.” That smile of his _gleamed_ with restrained annoyance _. _ “He’s a stubborn man. So - he decided it would be best to… sneak out for a little bit. You are, right now, functioning as the excuse that’s keeping our  _ lovely _ caretakers out of the room. We did emphasize how serious and private of a conversation this was, after all.”

Gaster sat. Gaster stared. Then - he wrote on the pad of paper he still held in his hand,  _ You and the Primus are together? _ After a moment of peering, the good doctor added another question mark to emphasize his complete confusion.

Legbiter  _ laughed. _ “We’re practically married, though he’s been an awful stick in the mud about making an honest man out of me. Yes, we are - he is shy about it, isn’t he?”

Clearly, Gaster had no real idea about how to respond to that. To any of this, really, and he looked around the room as if that would, somehow, alleviate his confusion. Blue walls. White curtains. Simple bedding, wood flooring - and his gaze returned to the bedridden Inquisitor, who still maintained that uneasy smile. Eventually, his attention dipped down to the bindings, which finally got Legbiter to comment. "I am a... famously  _poor_ patient." His explanation was, of course, vague.

“Oh,” Gaster warbled, and then looked down at his pad of paper. After a moment, he scritched some words onto the white surface.

_ What is the Primus doing? _

“A secret, I’m afraid.” Legbiter winked. “I do hope you won’t out him, though, it’d mean trouble for the both of us. All you have to do is stay here, and they’ll think we’re  _ conversing. _ ”

Gaster hummed in a buzz of thought, and then looked at the door again. To be honest - he would, well. Rather be watching over you.

A fact which Legbiter easily read off of his face. “Worrying about Two-Bit, are you?”

Though he winced slightly at the name, Gaster tore his gaze away from the door and nodded. 

Legbiter contemplated him for a moment - and, though Gaster didn’t know it, it was with some genuine empathy, felt by a man who also knew what it was like to be pathetically worried about a loved one. “How are they doing?”

The guilt in Gaster’s eyes told him all he needed to know, and he held up a hand to stop him before he wrote out a formal analysis. “...I heard that their soul, ah…  _ chipped _ a little?”

It went beyond  _ chipping _ , but Gaster appreciated the mild way that he put it as he miserably nodded.

“Mm.” Legbiter mused over this. “You’ve been feeling pretty bad about it, huh?”

Gaster gave him a flat stare that said,  _ obviously - _ and then finally wrote something out before presenting it to him.  _ How could I not? The procedure went poorly - and it could have dire ramifications on not only their health... but their very personality as well. _

“Hum. Well. First off, they’re not dead, which is a miracle, considering you were  _ actually being attacked _ at the time. Secondly - hmn. I suppose you couldn’t  _ possibly _ have any context about what a human soul can endure while still being able to function, could you…?” 

There was a slight pause, and Gaster simply… squinted at Legbiter, as if silently asking for clarification.

“Well! This doesn't mean they'll be alright, necessarily, but I'll show you something that might give you some comfort. This has got to stay a secret, understand? The topic is taboo… And I don’t really want word of my  _condition_ spreading.” Legbiter settled his fingers on his chest, and then - without shame or further preamble - he drew his soul from the depths of his body.

Doctor W. D. Gaster could only  _ stare _ at the dim, glowing red heart before him - and the vicious hole that had been pierced straight through it, leaving the area around the wound sharp and shattered. The Inquisitor’s soul was  _ broken _ , and yet - there was life in him, still, and… apparent good humor.

Legbiter smiled at the monster’s dumbstruck look. “Hey Gaster… we need to pass the time, anyway. Wanna hear the story of how I was murdered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://pastebin.com/ZRkchhEw
> 
> At someone's request, I created a little list of the magi characters - this includes EVERYBODY, no matter their plot relevance, so don't get scared! Characters will fade in and out as they serve their purpose in the story.
> 
> This story is going to get complicated, so I'll keep updating the list as new plot points and characters are added, so people can keep track of who is friends with who, who hates who, and who is trying to accomplish what.


	20. I Can't Tell if this is the Police or a Dating Hotline.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's storytime! PS, there's some discussions about homophobia and a couple of slurs.

A long time ago - though, honestly, a scant few decades isn’t much in the grand scheme of things - a young boy waited to be picked up on the corner of the street.

He was ten, perhaps eleven - the age when boys start to become “little shits” as his teacher would describe it, though Anklebiter was a quiet child, reserved and thoughtful. Perhaps a bit too inclined to mischief for his instructor’s liking and easily bored when forced to sit still for long periods of time, but still, all in all a _good lad_ who was well-liked by those who knew him. He had a propensity for kindness, after all, and a natural inclination towards protecting the weak and helping those in need.

That was what drew Grizzly to him, initially. The small little things, the quiet way he went about doing favors for people.

Still. Despite all his good qualities, he still was a fairly restless child, which, on that day - on that quiet autumn afternoon - was his death sentence.

Though, honestly, who could blame him?

Who could blame a ten year old boy for following an adult he thought he could trust?

“Fun fact,” Legbiter said as an aside. “You are _way_ more likely to be murdered by someone you know, so all of that ‘stranger danger’ crap they teach kids is _utter_ bullshit.”

 _“Stranger-danger?”_ wrote Gaster, a man who had never had to endure 90’s era classrooms.

“Just a joke. Don’t worry about it.”

Anyway.

His teacher was late, as he often was - honestly, it was hard to tell if it was a simple dislike of quaint notions like _punctuality_ or if he did it on purpose to test his protege. Anklebiter had already endured two years of this and, truthfully, had become quite tired of it, so his first emotion upon seeing someone he knew approach him and say he was here to pick him up was…

Gratitude.

The man in question was called Transversal - though honestly, most just called him Virgil, as that name was something of a mouthful - and he was the next in line to become the Primus.

An emphatic gesture stopped Legbiter, and Gaster scribbled out a note. _“Wait, the PRIMUS murdered you?”_

“No, no. Arithmos - the _current_ Primus - was the one who ended up replacing his teacher, Alfred. Virgil… well. It’ll become clear soon why he was… replaced.”

 _“I assume because he killed you,”_ Gaster wrote out in his neat hand. _“Which I’m still extremely confused about, honestly, but with everything I’ve seen in the past few weeks I’ve learned that humans are bizarre and I shouldn’t really question it.”_

Legbiter paused for a moment, eyes flicking over the text. “Well, that’s one reason, yes. Also; don’t stop asking questions. Our magic might break laws, yes. However… through the breaking of laws, you’ll get quite a bit of insight into what those laws actually _are.”_

A pause. “Though, honestly, things might be easier for you if you stop asking questions, so take everything I say with a grain of salt. I _did_ get stabbed to death, after all!”

Gaster’s look of contemplative worry only increased.

Right. Virgil.

Virgil was - how to say it… he _seemed_ nice. Not in the cloying, saccharinely sweet way, either, but a calm, quiet _generosity_ that the boy truly, genuinely admired. Everything about him was moderate; moderate height, moderate weight, with dark hair and dark-eyes that had a red, ochreish warmth to him. Really, the only features that stood out were his prominent eyebrows and small, pretty nose, but that was mostly lost in an otherwise genetically affable face.

He was soft spoken but clearly intelligent, weighing in at council meetings only when he truly had something of importance to say… and Anklebiter knew him most because, during those long, drawn out affairs, Virgil had a habit of…

Well.

Entertaining him, that ten year old who felt completely out of place being dragged into the world of adult politics.

It was subtle, small things. An amused glance. A brief wisp of commentary. Occasionally, he’d draw Anklebiter little pictures - often comedic representations of the current events - sliding them casually over to the boy who often sat next to him. They were both students, after all, and would one day work together - for an Inquisitor’s job was always to be the right hand to the leader of the domain.

So… overall, Anklebiter felt warmly towards him, and wasn’t suspicious at all when he was told, _I’m picking you up today; the Inquisitor and I thought it might be good for us to get to know each other, considering that we’ll one day be a team._

He took him out for ice-cream, and they talked about this and that - all about the boy himself, though it’s hard to say whether that was specific intent or mere childhood selfishness. It was, overall, a rather nice time, and Anklebiter found no reason at all to be on his guard.

Perhaps that was why he fell asleep so readily, slipping into the abyss on that sunny park bench.

Or, well, perhaps…

“He drugged you,” Gaster couldn’t help but saying in his utter horror. “He -- he --”

At his confused expression, Gaster scrawled it out for him - and Legbiter couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, well. That was hardly the worst thing he did, though I have to say that day ruined my ability to enjoy ice cream - which is a crime in and of itself, wouldn’t you say?”

Gaster didn’t reply, the edges of his form turning a bit gelatinous in his distress.

Drugged - and kidnapped, too. Honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle that he wasn’t seen carrying the boy back to the hovel that served as his secret workspace. Although, perhaps he planned his route well-enough to keep himself from being undetected? In the aftermath of everything… no one really cared to figure out how Virgil had pulled it off.

It might have even just been magic. Who can say? Certainly not Anklebiter.

He was out like a light, after all.

It would probably be best not to really describe that place he woke up in, nor to really elaborate on what was done with that child. It was, how to say it… Inhumane? Honestly… it’s easier to think of it as something that wasn’t the work of a human being.

 _“Of a monster,”_ Gaster wrote, his mouth drawn tight, and Legbiter shook his head slightly on the pillow.

“Nah… That wasn’t what I was getting at, though I do remember him being fascinated with the legends about monsters, which… well. I suppose wasn’t terribly odd, considering that he was trained to maintain Ebott, land of barriers.” A brief sigh. “No, the word I was implying there was _demon._ Of someone who is so freely and able to hurt that they’re not really recognizable as human anymore. Or - no… perhaps I should call someone like that a devil? Demons are salvageable, after all. They can regain their humanity.”

There was a pause from Gaster and then he wrote in sharp, choppy letters. _“How did you escape?”_ he wrote, the writing oddly choppy and tense.

“Well,” Legbiter said after a wholly inappropriate chuckle. “My teacher is a very, _very_ stubborn man. And… very difficult to lie to.”

To keep the charade of normalcy going in his day-to-day life while he did his unholy work, Virgil aided in the search for Anklebiter. That wasn’t too unusual; in fact, he’d been part of search parties in the past, when other unfortunate children found themselves lost to the unkinder parts of the world. It made him seem like a good, charitable man, ready to spare his time when the worst befell the community.

...Though… perhaps in the end…

That made him more suspicious to Inquisitor Grizzly?

The culprit was never caught in any of those cases, after all, and, gosh. Wasn’t it awful how the corpses they found provided no conclusive evidence pointing towards the identity of the killer.

After two or so days, Grizzly had an odd enough feeling about Virgil that he decided to follow him one day when he was ostensibly searching for the missing child. And -- The scene he found in that bizarre, unholy laboratory…

Was of the future Primus stabbing a half-bestial child through the heart.

See, Transversal aimed to cut through the line diving _science_ and _magic._ He - a man who was supposed to be concerned with barriers, as was traditional of the Primus of Ebott - sought to break them, instead. His goal was to drag magic out of obscurity - to use the principles of “science” to analyze and understand the eccentricities of magic.

Or - more particularly - Virgil wished to understand the Beast.

He wanted to know what force in the human soul could possibly provoke such a cataclysmic surge in power at the cost of one’s, well. Humanity. Because, well. Consider the implications of the dual theories of science and magic. If it’s possible to claim that magic _could just be_ science that isn’t properly understood?

...Wouldn’t the Beast be the same way?

An, as an aside, to say something that Gaster realized in that moment -

If you can make artificial Determination - can you make artificial LOVE?

Apparently, _it was possible,_ so proved the man who sought to gain insight into the curse of the magi in perhaps one of the most brutal ways possible. He created something that could turn that child into a hellish monstrosity, and - when he was finished, when he’d proven that his concoction was a success - he decided to dispose of the creature he had made.

“Gaster,” Legbiter called, “Have you figured out why I’m telling you this story, yet?”

In a somewhat shaky hand, Gaster wrote, _“As a warning?”_

“Yes. Well! Partially. Don’t get me wrong, I think you have good intentions. You are _nothing_ like Virgil - not that I’ve seen. But I want you to understand why, exactly, people might be _terrified_ of what you know, what you can do, and that it would be in your best interests to keep quiet about your knowledge of the soul.” A brief pause. “...And, further, to temper yourself in regards to Two-Bit. They’ve been lead astray before… which I imagine you’re aware of?”

A fierce expression crossed Gaster’s mouth, and he wrote something with sharp, dark lines. _“I would_ _never_ _take advantage of them like the Cerebrum did. She’s absolutely wretched.”_

Legbiter laughed, bright and warm, and Gaster’s face morphed into confusion. “Wonderful! You know, I _did_ have a good feeling about you, though the Primus didn’t believe me. Though… I think he’s come around, a little?

For a long moment, Gaster thought this over, and then presented another note. _“I don’t understand why he asked me to perform that operation on Two-Bit, given everything. He said he was willing to risk anything to save them, but… still, that seems like something he should be completely unwilling to do. Does he not know about what happened to you?”_

“Oh, he knows. It’s just - well. You’ve got part of the answer there; he’s got one thing he values above everything else - and he’ll bend everything else in the pursuit of that goal. But… You didn’t hear this from me - but he actually was impressed by you, that night.”

Gaster tilted his head, baffled.

“You were willing to sacrifice everything for Two-Bit. You were willing to die for them. There’s no way Prim could hate someone like that, though he wouldn’t be caught dead saying it. Also - I mean. The circumstances were pretty different. Sure, both involved soul fuckery, but it’s not like you were going around kidnapping and murdering kids.”

Gaster paused. Well, _that_ hit home a little harder than he’d like, though he wasn’t going to, er, overtly comment on it. Instead, he wrote, _“Is… that one of the reasons he hates Asgore so much? He’s - thinks his niceness is a facade, and that he is, at his core, like Virgil?”_

“Uh, yeah. That’s -- part of it.” Legbiter looked a little awkward. “The Primus’ hatred of Asgore is deep and multifaceted. Anyway, long story short, it’s a super touchy subject, and though only a select few know what, exactly, Virgil did, they _do_ know he was experimenting on souls… And people don’t forget that sort of thing easily. So. Be really mindful, alright?”

Gaster nodded swiftly.

“Right. Now. Let’s get to the bit you’re interested in - why I’m still here, talking to you… and… what having a damaged soul really _means._ ”

It’s not really important to go into complex detail about the events of that night. Versus a fully trained Inquisitor, the young Primus in training had absolutely no chance of success - and he ran, leaving much of his work and the corpse of his victim behind. Perhaps everything could have been ended that night, had Grizzly pursued him, but - no. He let him escape, in favor of tending to his dying protege.

Well. Dead protege. He was dead. That mystical _force_ that tethered the soul to the body had been severed, and with nothing to stop its decay…

That bright, red heart started turning to dust.

...Grizzly loved Anklebiter like a son. In truth - he practically was the boy’s father, and the thought of losing him that night was too much to bear. Particularly since -

Well.

There’s always that guilt, isn’t there? What if he’d asked more questions? What if he’d noticed some of the small details, the subtle hints that Virgil had a dark secret? What if he’d _been a better Inquisitor_ and - and… stopped this before it took the life of his student?

Fueled by guilt - and, further, fueled by love - the Inquisitor took that shattered, crumbling soul into his hands…

And… performed a taboo.

He used blood to bring his son back to life.

“By the way,” Legbiter commented cheerfully, ignoring Gaster’s shocked expression. “If you tell _anyone_ about this, I will make sure you’re silenced. I do not want my teacher’s name defiled in his retirement - and I will find out if you do! Do you understand?”

Gaster nodded quickly, looking understandably frightened.

“Great! Glad we’re on the same page, here.”

Swallowing nervously, Gaster took a moment to think about just what he’d gotten himself caught up in.

It worked, obviously. Bleeding, weak, but his heart was still beating, his soul had stopped crumbling - and as his teacher carried him to safety, he opened his eyes slightly, looking up at his father’s face.

And he felt…

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Anklebiter was alive in only the meekest sense of the word - because the soul? That’s where humans _feel._ The culmination of his being - and his was _fractured._

On that day… Anklebiter lost the ability to feel happiness.

(Frantic waving. Gaster was trying to get his attention, face pulled taut in panic.

“Christ, hold your horses, I’m not _done yet,_ let me make this appropriately dramatic!)

He grew immediately quieter. More distant. More withdrawn. How could he not? Everything felt dull. Grey. Empty. That boy truly believed he was still dead - because it felt like he _was._ He lost his preferences. He lost interest in his old hobbies. He did things only because he was told to do them - and because he still had that memory of caring about things, and, well, maybe that was enough. Grizzly found out fairly quickly, of course, and… somehow, Anklebiter could still feel sadness as he watched the devastation on Grizzly’s face. That it wasn’t perfect, that his student wasn’t _alright._

 _One more day,_ he would tell Anklebiter. _One more day, just live another day, and bit by bit, it’ll get better, boy. You’ll see._

That child didn’t believe him. How could he? The grey fog that had enveloped his heart - it obscured everything, even his sense of self. When Anklebiter looked at his reflection, he could barely believe those assorted shapes and colors belonged to _him_. It didn’t connect at all.

His hands didn’t feel like his. His face didn’t feel like his. It was like he was some faint… existence puppeting this strange meat sack -

“Oh my god, okay. What? What is it?”

Gaster practically shoved his message in Legbiter’s face, and he had to squint to read it.

_Is that going to happen to Aegis?_

Legbiter’s eyebrows went up. “... _Aegis?_ That’s what you call them?”

Pausing, Gaster stared at the Inquisitor’s face, then looked at his note. Very, very carefully, he scratched out that name, and presented him with the corrected version.

_Is that going to happen to Two-Bit?_

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Well, that’s the thing, we don’t know. But if you’d just _listen_ to me, you’ll see why this story will comfort you some. I mean… do you really think I’m still like that?”

There was a pause.

“Okay, don’t answer that question.”

Over time, Anklebiter learned to deal with it. He could kind of pretend to be normal, and sometimes things felt alright if he just focused on the present. He didn’t have many friends, but those he did had somehow made it feel a little bit _better…_ and it was in the wake of that small, meager hope that Anklebiter met Arithmos.

It was raining that day, and his best friend, Astra - who, in the present, was mostly known as Beatrice, Many-Names’ late wife - asked him a question.

“Hey, Ankh. Have you ever been on a date?”

It was a peculiar question, and he asked why she was asking, upon which she simply said that, well, weren’t they getting to the age that people started going on dates? Shouldn’t that be a thing they do? Hold hands, kiss… whatever else people in relationships did?

Anklebiter shrugged, not really knowing one way or the other. He was a profoundly emotionally stunted fifteen year old boy, so it was only to be expected that he knew nothing about the subject.

Astra was a somewhat precocious girl, and, well - maybe had an agenda with her questions. It’s hard to say; nothing ever came of it if there was one. “So… well, if you did date someone, what sort of person would it be?”

“Dunno,” was Anklebiter’s extremely helpful reply. “How do you pick someone to date?”

Astra huffed. “It’s just someone you’re _interested_ in, dummy.”

Thinking the matter over seriously, Anklebiter said, “Well, Arithmos, I guess.”

“What? _A-Arithmos?_ He’s… he’s…” She squeaked. “ _A boy!”_

“Okay?” said Anklebiter, king of being completely oblivious to societal norms.

Astra didn’t press that matter further, although she did express curiosity about why, exactly, he’d date Arithmos. He was kind of… like… he was… kind of… boring?

Anklebiter shrugged - it was a common maneuver for him. “I dunno. He’s different, and he’s going to be the next Primus, so shouldn’t I get to know him better?”

It was a fair point, and it _was_ true that Arithmos was in an… interesting position. He’d manifested talent fairly late - being sixteen when it he’d been selected as the Primus’ student - which gave him a profoundly different set of experiences from most wizards. And… well…

He was _Transversal’s_ replacement. Even those who might not really care had their eyes on the up-and-coming Primus.

The answer still seemed to dissatisfy Astra though, so it was with some sarcasm that she said, “Well, why not go ask him out on a date, then?”

Anklebiter thought this over, too, and then he handed her the umbrella they’d been walking under. “Alright. Tell Grizzly I won’t be home until later!” With that, he was off, running into the rain before Astra could stop him - though she did a fair bit of shout

He arrived at the Primus’ house - where Arithmos was staying - looking rather akin to a sopping wet dog. When he knocked, it was Arithmos who answered - very well pet together, even then, although his fashion sense was a little less… sleek, fewer modern suits-and-ties and more black-vests with bowties. He was wearing a demure blue one, that day. It went very well with his eyes, though honestly, at the time, Anklebiter was blind to that sort of thing.

“Hi! Wanna go on a date?” were the first words out of Anklebiter’s mouth, and Arithmos stared at him incredulously for a moment before slamming the door in his face.

There was a pause as Anklebiter realized he should have asked Astra how one actually asked someone out. He wasn’t an easily discouraged child, though, so he knocked again - and surprisingly, after a hesitant pause, Arithmos opened the door once more.

Well. Half-opened, peeping out at the sodden boy on his porch. “...Are you going to stop joking around and tell me what you actually want?”

He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Anklebiter, the Inquisitor-in-Training.”

Arithmos eyed it with some disgust. “...I know who you are. We’ve met before. You sit next to me in the council meetings, and you never take them seriously.”

Anklebiter wasn’t really sure what to do at this point, so he just kept his hand out in a continual gesture of friendship. “I’d like to go on a date with you!”

The door shut again, and luckily Anklebiter’s reflexes were good enough that his fingers weren’t crushed. Still, though, that wasn’t what he wanted, so he set to knocking once more, this time calling through the door when it didn’t open. “Ah - please? We can go wherever you’d like! I’ll buy you food! Or flowers! Whatever you want.”

“This isn’t funny!” He heard Arithmos call from the other side. “Also, be quiet, the Primus is trying to work!”

“Well, I have to shout so you’ll hear me!”

“I don’t _want_ to hear you; go away!”

“Well - why? Did I do something wrong?” He banged on the door again, and found it opening underneath his touch.

“ _Stop knocking,_ ” Arithmos hissed, only half of his face visible through the door. “Look, I don’t know who put you up to this, but it’s _not funny,_ alright? So go back to your friends, tell them that you tricked me or - or whatever it is you have to do, but _go away!_ ”

Anklebiter let his hand drop to his side. “Uh. What?”

“What don’t you understand about _go away?_ It’s an incredibly simple statement! Do I need to spell it for you? Get you a _dictionary?”_

“Um, what do you mean about someone putting me up to this? I don’t understand.”

Arithmos spoke slowly, condescension dripping from his tone. “I’m _saying_ that I _know_ someone got you to ask me on a date as a joke. It’s not funny, it’s old, and - couldn’t you at least have gotten a woman to do it? This is ridiculous.”

Anklebiter squinted. “I’m not joking. I’d like to go on a date with you.”

An expression crossed Arithmos’ face before the door slammed shut again. It was of disgust, yes, and anger, but also disappointment and - and _hurt,_ and seeing it made Legbiter feel… weird.

Weird, and also _curious._

The next day, he showed up with a bouquet of flowers and another plea for a date. Just one! It didn’t have to be a thing! Once more, he got a door to the face, and after sporadic bursts of yelling he decided to just leave the flowers on the doorstep.

The day after, Anklebiter noted that the flowers were gone, but this time, Arithmos wouldn’t even open the door, though honestly, perhaps neither of them were home. It had been repeatedly emphasized by both Madeline and Grizzly that peering through people’s windows without just cause was Wholly Inappropriate, and he figured that trying to get a date wasn’t really proper justification for doing so. He left a letter in the mailbox instead, reading quite simply, _I like your bow-ties. You’re always wearing a different one. It’s neat._

He was, admittedly, wholly clueless about the concept of writing “love notes”.

On the fourth day, it was an amused looking Primus who answered the door, and Anklebiter stood to attention with some alarm. He hadn’t actually expected to encounter the man during this process, which was a bit of an oversight on his part, considering that, y’know. _It was his house._

“Alright,” he said, clearly trying to be serious about the situation and not laugh at the idiot child on his doorstep. “What, exactly, is going on?”

“I want to go on a date with Arithmos, but he won’t say yes. Can I talk to him?”

The Primus seemed to take this very well. “May I ask why you’re so set on this?”

“Well. I asked him because Astra said I should, but then…” He crossed his arms, thinking the matter over seriously. “I dunno. He thought I was playing a joke on him. I don’t like that.”

The Primus raised a single brow. It was an expression he’d likely practiced religiously in a mirror to get _just right._ “Elaborate?”

Anklebiter squirmed a bit, looking at the ground. “...I’m serious. Even if he ends up saying no, I want him to know I’m not joking.”

He might have been an emotionally repressed idiot, but at least he was honest.

After contemplating him for a long moment, the Primus nodded. “Very well. You have until the end of the week. If he still has not agreed, I must insist that you leave Arithmos alone - do you understand?”

He did. That day, he left without actually speaking to Arithmos, but he did have some time to ask the Primus for advice... and from there he had derived a plan of attack.

Luckily, he had quite a bit of allowance saved up.

The fifth day, Arithmos answered the door once more, opening it all the way and staring at Anklebiter with a flat, unamused expression. “What,” he said, voice expressionless. “Do you want.”

He held out a substantial book of puzzles he’d acquired that morning. “I bought you a present.”

For a moment, Arithmos didn’t react - and then he shut the door in Anklebiter’s after hissing, _“You are so weird.”_

Well. That didn’t go according to plan. Making a small, thoughtful noise to himself, Legbiter set his present on the doorstep, and walked back down the sidewalk.

It looks like he’d have to prepare something better.

The sixth day - well, more like evening, really, as Legbiter didn’t arrive until the sun had begun to set - Anklebiter totally ignored the door, because - in his day devoted to the study of Romance - he’d realized one of the many problems of his approach.

Doors were lame. True masters of dating used the _window._ Of course, there were two problems with that, both of them centered around the fact that, well. Arithmos’ room seemed to be on the second story of the house.

The first problem was the simplest and most easily solved: actually getting up there to speak with him. In the books he’d read, there would have been a large, conveniently placed tree to assist him to getting to the window, but - alas, the world had failed him in that department. Luckily, he’d spent his youth honing a very particular skillset, namely, the ability to climb very, very well.

The second, however, required some ingenuity.

In the dimming evening, Anklebiter held a length of sturdy rope, swinging the end in a lazy circle as he contemplated the logistics of his current mission. He’d tied a knot around a large rock, making the rope a bit easier to direct, but still - it’d be a difficult throw to get it perfectly across the sill of the window.

Deciding to not be lazy about it, he clamped the rope between his teeth and began to climb. The stone facade going up the side of the house gave him something to grip onto, and he heaved himself up, using the edge of the first story window as a stepping stone once he’d gotten there.

And, in that manner, he shimmied up, dropped the rope over the edge of the sill, and let himself fall in a flutter of fabric.

From there, it was just a matter of using his strength and some solid knotwork to haul the exorbitantly heavy cardboard box up to the second story. Though, Anklebiter did learn a fact that day, one that plagued movers everywhere: _books are really fucking heavy._ Still! His determination did not waver, and he managed the feat after some effort.

Keeping the box aloft by tying the rope to one of the columns supporting the porch, Anklebiter began to climb again, skittering up the wall and shifting his weight onto the ledge jutting out from the window.

Unfortunately for him, the position was highly precarious, and the sudden noise from the window opening was enough to startle him into a fall.

A sudden tightness at his shirt prevented gravity from claiming him - more precisely, Arithmos’ hand - and Anklebiter used the muscles in his calves to pivot himself forward. Of course, it was a difficult thing to moderate, so he ended up falling into the room instead… and since Arithmos’ reflexes were very poorly honed…

Anklebiter ended up up tumbling forward in a horribly ungraceful manner, taking Arithmos down with him.

Grunting, Anklebiter pushed himself up up on his hands, the long stream of his hair framing his face as he looked down at his unexpected savior. “Hello! Thanks for catching me,” he said cheerfully, clearly prioritizing politeness over decency given that he was still straddling Arithmos. (Though - actually, it was more like he had absolutely no conception that their position was embarrassing.)

Arithmos was aware, though, very, _very_ aware, and he choked a bit, not quite able to find his tongue as a fierce blush dominated his features. “Wh -- wha.. wh- what - what are you - “

It was this rather inopportune moment that the door opened, revealing the very concerned face of the Primus. “Arithmos, is everything alright? I heard a -- “

He paused.

“Get off me!” Screamed Arithmos, whose lungs suddenly worked very, very well. “Get off! GET OUT! ALL OF YOU!”

Deciding that this wasn’t something he particularly wanted to deal with, the Primus retreated, letting Arithmos knee Anklebiter in the stomach in peace.

Complying to Arithmos’ demands, Anklebiter rolled off of him and pushed himself up in an elegant, fluid motion, a sharp contrast to his earlier clumsiness. “Ah, sorry - “

“What the fuck are you doing! Why are you here! Why are you in my room! GET OUT!” Arithmos’ voice had become a high-pitched, keening screech, and he pointed at Anklebiter in obvious distress, not even bothering to stand. “Out! Out!!”

“Um.” The shouting did not abate, and, in fact, was so fervent that he was successfully driven from the room. He perched on the sill rather like a somewhat alarmed-yet-curious bird, peering through the gap with one hand resting on the frame of the window for balance himself. “Er - “

“Why do you keep visiting me? Why were you at my _window?_ Who’s putting you up to this?” Artithmos gestured violently in Anklebiter’s direction, clearly at his wits end by the way he was going on. “ _This isn’t funny!”_

Finally, Anklebiter had an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. “I brought you more gifts,” he said with dogged determination. “I even wrapped these ones!”

Arithmos stared in dumb shock as Anklebiter hauled the box in through the window, plopping it down onto the floor with a crunch of cardboard. It looked a little tacky in the very sleek, tastefully decorated room, with a very plain, Adult bedspread and pristinely polished wooden furniture, but, well. Cardboard was cheap, light, and easily acquired from the attic. Hopefully he could be forgiven for cutting corners in that department.

“Why…” Trembling, Arithmos clenched his fists. “Why are you so fucking weird?”

Anklebiter considered Arithmos for a long moment. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that to him, but never before had it been filled with so much _hurt._ So much pain.

It made him feel even weirder, and guilty, on top of it, which was not an emotion he was used to feeling. It stuck in his gut oddly, twisting slowly - like a knife. “I just… wanted to take you on a date.”

“ _You’re a guy!_ You can’t -- you can’t just _say_ shit like that! You’ll get -- “ Arithmos cut himself off sharply, biting down on what he was going to say.

Anklebiter, however, was not going to just let that sentence die. “You’ll get…?” There was no reply, and - slowly - He lowered his feet touch the wooden slats of the floor and stood. His steps were small, though not really _hesitant,_ more… restrained. “You’ll get _what?_ ”

There was something oddly threatening about Anklebiter’s aura in that moment, causing the next words to slip out of Arithmos’ mouth. “...You’ll get your ass kicked for being a faggot.”

“...A faggot?” Anklebiter repeated with an almost comical tilt of the head.

“You know, someone who’s -- who’s _queer._ ” The word seemed to rot in Arithmos’ mouth, and he looked away from Anklebiter, mouth twisted into a scowl. “A pervert who likes other guys.”

That look in Anklebiter’s eyes was strange: dark, cold, with a low, dangerous glint. He didn’t understand… but he didn’t _have_ to. “Has someone been hurting you?”

“Uh.” It was Arithmos’ turn to be caught off guard, frozen in place as Anklebiter advanced. “What?’

“Is it the Primus? Has he been hitting you?” There was no reason to suspect that, not really, but, y’know. He’d always kind of wondered if it wasn’t just _Virgil_ who was rotten.

“Wh--what? _No!_ He wouldn’t -- he’s never… He would _never._ ” Arithmos had gotten quiet now, a far cry from his earlier manner. “No one hit me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.” Anklebiter was close now - _embarrassingly_ close, and Arithmos had to take a step back.

“Well, it’s none of your business, quite honestly!” he huffed, crossing his arms and glaring. “You can think whatever stupid things you like.”

“Most people can’t beat me in a fair fight, and I don’t fight fair. If someone hurts you, I will take care of them.” Anklebiter’s tendency to solve problems with threats had started young.

Arithmos paused at the… _fervency_ of the declaration. “That. Er. Will… not be necessary.”

There was a long pause between them, and finally Anklebiter let the subject drop, instead gesturing to the box he’d brought in. “Do you… want to open your present? Er. Presents. There are multiple things in there.”

Artihmos looked at the box, then Anklebiter, then the box, and - who knows why he finally conceded in that moment? Perhaps the earlier conversation had won him over, or perhaps he’d just resigned himself to Anklebiter’s peculiar overtures of friendship. Either way… he let out a huge, heaving sigh and said, “Very well. It’s not like you’ll leave me alone until I do.”

In that moment, Anklebiter didn’t really feel happiness - but he did feel a slight blush of triumph, particularly upon seeing Arithmos’ shock at what, exactly, he’d been given.

“Multiple things” didn’t even properly begin to cover just _how many_ books Anklebiter bought for him.

That night, Anklebiter left without getting a date; it was the seventh evening, the final day he’d been given by the Primus, that he finally got what he wanted.

Er. Sort of.

“Fine,” Arithmos had said with a tired sigh, staring at Anklebiter who had - once more - decided that the window was an appropriate mode of entry. “It’s not a date, but I’ll hang out with you, alright?”

Anklebiter hadn’t been able to visit him until late in the evening - training that day had kept him very busy - so it was actually a considerable boon to him that Arithmos conceded so readily. (Or… perhaps having left Arithmos to stew for an entire day had benefitted him? He was always difficult with his own emotions, even then.)

Though Arithmos had meant tomorrow, since it was already so late and everything was closed, Anklebiter still had not developed a proper sense of patience and wanted to go out _that night._ The sky was cloudless, after all, why not go see the stars?

Arithmos had grumbled a bit, because that was… kind of gay, but he’d agreed, eventually, though they didn’t go far - just to the roof, which Anklebiter helped him climb up to. They sat together, side-by-side - and for the first time, they really…

...Talked.

It was Anklebiter who started it, being annoyingly curious as he was. “Did people really use to ask you on dates as a joke?”

“...Yeah.” It’s hard to say what made him be honest. Maybe it was the stars - they had a way of stripping the lies from people’s hearts. “The thought of it repulsed people so much that they thought it would be funny.”

“Why?” Anklebiter leaned in, suddenly, sniffing at Arithmos. “You don’t smell bad or anythin - ”

Arithmos shoved his face away, scowling. “First of all, you’re weird. Second - ...I was a nerd. Am a nerd. _You know._ ”

“I don’t, actually.” Anklebiter rested his arms on his knees. “A nerd - that means you’re smart, right? What’s wrong with that?”

“I - “ A pause. He glanced at Anklebiter, who only looked _curious,_ and it just… came out. “Because I cared a lot about things that people thought were stupid. School. Homework. I was good at things that - that were _lame_ , and… I was easy to make fun of. It wasn’t like I could fight back or anything, and I didn’t have any friends. I thought… everybody around me was an idiot, and so I just focused on - ”

Arithmos stopped, and Anklebiter urged him forward. “On…?”

“...It’s stupid.”

“So am I, apparently, but I don’t really see a problem with it.”

A snort. “You’re just shameless.” Then. “Well. It’s not like it matters. I worked really hard on my schoolwork because I wanted to be a computer scientist. Alan Turing was my hero, and -- well. That probably doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? You’ve probably never even seen a computer.”

He was right; Anklebiter hadn’t, but the way he spoke of it - both fondly, yet with such horrible  _bitterness -_ made him realize just what Arithmos had lost, even if he lacked the proper context. That dream of Arithmos’ - that dream he alienated everyone in pursuing, that dream that he’d suffered so much for - had been ripped from him the moment he showed _talent._

It made him sad, because he knew what that feeling was like - to have his heart crushed beneath the world’s heel, ground into pieces until everything was numb.

“Oh, don’t fucking look at me like that,” Arithmos grumbled, shifting his attention back up to the sky. “Yeah, it sucks, I tried really damn hard and it’s all kind of useless now, but that just means I have to try really hard at _this_ now. Being the Primus.” He waved vaguely. “So don’t think that I’m someone who needs to be pitied. It’s not like I’ve given up.”

Gaping, Anklebiter couldn’t tear his eyes away from Arithmos’ profile - and he felt something, then, for that determined spirit sitting next to him. It was warm. It was powerful. And it was something that he thought he’d never really feel again.

Happiness. Hearing that made him  _happy._

“I love you,” he said without hesitation, so overcome was he by this _thing_ he was feeling. “I really love yo--”

Arithmos, of course, cut him off, saying that he was an idiot and you can’t just _say things_ like that, what the fuck, they barely knew each other and - honestly, he was right.

Sort of.

It was love, but not in the way that it was described in those terrible books Anklebiter read to try to understand other people. No, that wouldn’t come until later - in that moment, it was the love of compassion, of empathy, and it was powerful enough to heal his soul just a little bit.

Well. Just a little bit more, because he never would have gotten to that point without Madeline, without Grizzly, without Astra.

“Do you see what I’m saying?” Legbiter said, smiling a bit. “Love can, quite literally, heal a broken soul. It naturally mends the cracks, bit by bit, smoothing them over until you can feel again. And - I don’t just mean romantic love either, though I’ve heard that you’ve developed a particular fondness for Two-Bit…?”

Gaster’s blush was all the confirmation he needed, and Legbiter laughed. “Well, anyway. Love them, Gaster, platonically, romantically - whatever way ends up working for the two of you. The Primus and I were just friends for a good long while, and that wasn’t any less important to us than our eventual, well. Romance. Aha.” His expression bordered on shy.

“...It’s not perfect. I still have trouble feeling things. But I’m happy, even though what happened will stick with me forever, and I’m sure the same will be true for them. They’re not dead. There’s still hope. Understand?”

His hands clenched on his lap, and he nodded, mouth drawn in a thoughtful line. Then, seeming to realize something, he wrote, _I thank you for the story, it was very informative. However… that was quite a lot to share for what was, ultimately, a few fairly simple lessons.”_

Legbiter’s grin bordered on wolfish, then softened somewhat as he explained. “Haha, alright, I’ll admit it. I had some… hidden motives. I want you to understand him a little more. Because.... if…” A sigh. “If something terrible happens, Gaster, I’m hoping that maybe - just _maybe -_ you’ll be able to feel compassion for him, because I have a feeling that - no matter what we do - you’re going to get yourself involved in this mess. Am I right?”

Gaster thought about this. _If Two-Bit gets involved, that is a likely outcome, yes._

“For a brief moment, Legbiter laughed. It was the sound of a man who knew something that he was, for the moment, declining to fully share. “You’ll find that it’s more than just that.”

Whatever Gaster’s intended response to that was, it will forever remain a mystery, because at that moment, a swift knocking arose at the door.

“Sorry to interrupt!” Came Azure’s voice from the other room. “But, ah - it’s Two-Bit! They’ve woken up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://pastebin.com/VvwxZdyD
> 
> I've decided to make a cast list, so if you forget a name you can very quickly reference it. <3 I hope that helps as things get a bit more convoluted!


	21. Finally! I've Been Calling for Ages Now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of swearing in this one. also, i rip off umineko once again.

The afternoon light cast the hall into hazy unfamiliarity, banishing the shadows and purifying the darkness born from that terrible night. In fact, standing there in front of the throne, you could almost believe that it had all been a horrible dream - that nothing was wrong, that no one had died, and that there were no terrible questions that demanded equally terrible answers.

You could almost pretend that nothing was wrong in your city, but you didn’t, because that would be fucking stupid. You _knew_ better, something had _always_ been wrong and, well, right now it was just a little worse than usual.

That’s all.

You could still clean it all up, as you always did.

“This is a really bad idea,” Many-Names said from near the wall, and you told them to fuck off… as you always did.

“ _Primus,_ ” they stressed, taking a careful step forward. “I’m serious; you can’t keep this up _._ It’s going to kill you, and then where the hell will we be?”

“Hey,” you replied, gesturing away from the sodden ash inscribed on the ground. “Right back at you, fucker, I can tell you’ve been drinking again.”

There was an uneasy pause. “...That’s... temporary.”

“Yeah?” It was a hissed word accompanied by a sharp, pointed glare. “Until when? Did you ever actually go to those fucking therapy sessions, or did you lie about that too, you twit?”

“I went, also, I’m on to you, stop trying to change the topic.”

“I thought you came here to help me, not give me sass. I get enough of that from the Inquisitor, thank you.”

“Sass? You’re calling this _sass?_ I’m trying to keep you from _using fucking blood magic!_ It’ll kill you, Primus! It’s _killing_ you! _”_

“Killing me?” You stood, thoroughly pissed off at that point; Many-Names had a talent for doing that to you, damn their eyes. The wound on your leg dripped uneasily, made in a place that Klein wouldn’t notice, and you pointed a shaky hand at them, the unholy poultice gleaming on your fingertips. “Do you think I like this? Do you think I’ve got a _choice?_ Need I remind you that _you are the one_ who is so desperate to put me in this position?”

“Primus, you - ”

“ _I don’t have a choice!_ I am sworn to preserve the barrier keeping that _fucking witch_ out, by _any means necessary!_ And, need I _remind you_ why I have to _do_ this shit? Need I remind you why the _barrier is GETTING FUCKING WEAKER?_ ”

 _“Primus --_ “

“You want it both ways you _ignoble asshole!_ You want to be the _good guy --_ sorry, _person --_ in this sorry, _shitty_ situation, but you also want to keep the world from fucking blowing up! Well I’m _sorry to tell you_ that we don’t get both! Someone has to pay the price for the monster’s existence, and _you’re the one_ practically forcing it to be me!”

“ _Prim - ”_

“IF THEY’D NEVER COME OUT OF THAT MOUNTAIN, I WOULDN’T HAVE TO DO ANY OF THIS SHIT! I was managing before! It was bad, but I could _deal_ with it! I didn’t have to resort to THIS!” You gestured to the lines spiralling out from you, cut with runes and other arcane symbols - things the old Primus had taught you long, long ago. _For emergencies,_ he’d said. _And only then._

“But no! No! Sunlight had to be more important them than their own safety! They weren’t happy under the earth? Hell, I’d _kill_ to be buried under the ground right about now! They think they had problems _then_ ?! Look at them _now! Look at us all now!_ Now she’s gotten thirsty and is _waking up,_ all because they had to come to the fucking surface! _And you won’t even accept my goddamn compromises!”_

Many-Names had had enough. “Your COMPROMISE amounts to a fucking _ghetto!_ No - WORSE, because you want to put a barrier up between us and them! Keep them locked in a little _reservation,_ unable to leave! It’s no different from the Underground, and that sounds like hell!”

“It’s got the _sun,_ and isn’t _that_ what they’re obsessed with? That, and the stars? The _sky?_ Fuck, I don’t get what’s so goddamn special about a pencil-fucking atmospheric dome, but at least I’m sympathetic their wishes! It’d solve _everything_  if we could put another barrier up, they could stay behind it and be safe; everyone could be safe!”

“ _Everything?”_ Many-Names threw their hand out in a passionate gesture. “Don’t act like things weren’t shit _beforehand!_ Don’t act like the straw that broke the camel’s back somehow weighs more than the mound of _crap_ that was piled up on it before! You're trying to blame the monsters for tearing a hole in a thousand year old institution that was already crumbling! We’ve been keeping this shit closed with the equivalent of magical duct-tape for _hundreds of years!_ Of course it’s breaking! We've been putting off the inevitable, and the problem has just gotten _worse and worse! We need a solution, not another patchwork band-aid made from the skin of your own back!”_

“Talk to me when you’ve _got one_ then, because your ideas are all _shit!_ Ask the monsters for help? _Really? Really, do you think we can actually do that? I’m not asking Asgore for anything!”_

“You don’t have to ask Asgore! You can _ask Toriel! She’d do anything to help!”_

Honestly, you shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this, but - you couldn’t help yourself, not in your fury. Why couldn’t they _understand?_ “We can’t get too comfortable with them, you _idiot!_ It’s only a matter of time before some shitty thing happens and we’re at war again _!_ We need to protect them! We need to protect _ourselves!_ ”

Monsters and humans couldn’t possibly live together after all, history had proven that. Even if the problem of the weakened barrier was solved, even if the two races could come to a peaceful accord, even if nothing else was wrong…

...How could no one else see? It’d just take one breach of trust for everything to explode, and how could _you_ trust that not to happen?

How could you trust anything at all?

(You needed to smash it down, that small light of hope, that maybe Gaster _could_ help you -)

“Yeah, but who’s going to protect _you?_ You don’t have a plan! You don’t have any idea how to actually fix things, just a list of ideas you think are shit! What’s going to happen when you die? Or when you get too old for this, if you somehow get that far? The Dragons won’t fix anything! They’re even worse at admitting the problem than _you!_ They’ll just add patchwork onto the barrier until it collapses under its own weight, and, after that - _there’s no hope for us!_ Any of us! She’ll drive us all mad; just like -- “

“I think that’s about enough of that,” Rust finally stepped in, physically getting in between the two of you and putting her hands up defensively. “As much fun as it is to watch you fight… We gotta do this quick-like, don’t we? Or Klein’ll get pissy when he noticed you popped off.”

After a very, very long, tense pause, you finally relaxed your shoulders, looking away from your idiot friend and making a soft _tch_ sound. You hated it when Rust had a point, because she was kind of a dick. “Right. Fine. It’s not like arguing with will get either of us anywhere.”

Many-Names pursed their lips, stewing in silence as you bent back down to complete your work. Mission accomplished , Rust mimicked their gesture, her trusty lead pipe slung over her shoulder. If something bad happened, well -

She’d do what needed to be done.

Those glyphs, this ritual - as sickening as it was, it was all familiar to you now. Blood was ancient and powerful, connected to the dark evil of the Beast - and you defiled yourself in it, using your own sins and suffering to seal the unsealable, to contain the uncontainable -

To shut the door on a bloodthirsty god.

Your thumb scraped against the ancient stones of the place that, once, belonged to a kingdom far greater and more powerful than your own - but, ah. It was all yours now, wasn’t it? And you drowned in it, drowned in things you’d never meant to be responsible for. All their hopes, all their dreams... you _had_ to protect them - because no one else would. Because you couldn’t trust anyone else to not be a complete piece of shit.

To not hurt the people you loved - because they’d been hurt, over and over again, and you’d learned that, truly, power was an awful thing… and that those in power were (almost) unanimously garbage. Including yourself; you were just garbage that happened to have standards.

Low ones, to be sure, and proof of that was underneath your hands. Hellish magic, a great crime… honest people didn’t do this sort of thing. Good people didn’t do this sort of thing.

Desperate people, the sort of people who would do _anything_ for their goals did this sort of thing - the sort of people like Asgore, who murdered children and thought it was _okay_ because it was _for his people._

And you -

As you filled the palette of your hand with a fresh dose of blood -

Knew that you were no better.

That, as you pressed your sodden hand down, you could feel _it_ and -

 

* * *

 

 

 _“No!”_ You screamed, pressing your palms to your face. “I promised! Never again! I promised, _that I’d never do this kind of thing again and --_ and, and…”

Despite your protests, the scene before you kept going on, but you were out of it, now, in the audience rather than a direct participant. You saw the Primus hunched over, fingers splayed out over the ground. He looked haggard and, most of all, _old,_ older than you’d ever seen him before, jaw clenched with pain as he walked across a tightrope slung over the pit of damnation. And you saw Rust, standing over him, half-prepared to swing just in case his features got a little more _inhuman,_ just in case he finally found himself slipping….

You looked down at your hands, the hands that were _yours_ again, and you reached up and felt your face, pulling at your cheeks and your nose as you tried to understand what had just happened.

“Sorry,” a soft, feminine voice said from above you. “I played a bit of a trick on you. I trust you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me?”

You looked up and found that a slim, white gloved hand was being offered to you, and, beyond it, was a beautiful woman with long, buttery yellow hair and soft, red eyes. You stuttered a bit, afraid to place your hand in hers - she was _gorgeous,_ after all - and she laughed, a merry, child-like sound that seemed to wholly fit with the white garment she wore, buttercups dotting it like pearls.

“It’s alright, Aegis - or… well. Should I call you Two-Bit? Which do you prefer?”

“I, uh,” you stuttered a bit, and then carefully accepted her help up. “I, um. I’m -- I’m not really sure.”

She looked up at you, a soft smile still on her lips, and then spared a glance to the scene before you both. “It’d be in your best interests to decide soon.”

No one in the room seemed to have noticed the pair of you standing by the doorway, which struck you as wholly unnatural - like they were on a stage, and you, instead, were a member of the audience. “Am I... a ghost?”

“No, darling. You’re dreaming. Well! Sort of. It’s complicated.”

Complicated, huh? You certainly believed that, and you rubbed at your eyes as you tried to process everything that was going on. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Hmmn.” She made a soft, complicated noise, tapping at her chin. “You’re clever. Who do _you_ think I am?”

You looked over at her, at the crown of daffodils on her head and the quiet regality of her bearing. Her hair, her eyes, her dress - they all built up into one conclusion, and the words came to you easily. “You’re Queen Ranunculae… aren’t you?”

She clapped her hands together, smiling warmly. The sound struck you oddly; it didn’t echo in the hall as it should. “Correct! But you’re not satisfied with that, are you?”

“...No, not really. You’re trapped behind the Great Barrier. Even people who say they’ve seen you in their dreams - they’re just viewing memories. Nobody’s actually _spoken_ to you, because - the way you exist now…”

You thought about something you’d seen beyond a strange mirror. “...That was you, wasn’t it? The Primus told me I shouldn’t look at you, and, thinking about it now, he was probably right. But… you feel totally different…”

You flexed your fingers for a few moments, then looked at her. “Am I dead?”

She laughed, and that was kind of an unsettling response to your question. “No. I told you, you’re dreaming. The dead don’t dream, and neither can they meet me. You’re right, though - that thing you saw was also Queen Ranunculae, though… in a very sorry state, I must admit.”

“Um. What’s the difference? Between the two of you.”

“Hmn, to make this explanation a little easier, how about… we call her ‘Ranunculae’, and me… ‘Buttercup’. How does that sound?”

“...Is there a reason you have it that way rather than the reverse? You ‘Ranunculae’ and her ‘Buttercup’?”

A merry little laugh. “Because she’s still stuck in the past, of course. Latin? Really? If I’d continued to live, I definitely would have changed my name by now. That's how gods are, you know. A new language, a new name… I presume that mine’s stayed the same all these years because you all wanted to bury me.”

“...Huh.” You mused over this. “Well, I guess that’s easy enough.”

“Grand,” Buttercup replied, and then gestured vaguely to the ceiling. “You can consider Ranunculae to be the human half of me - the half consumed by rage and grief and, unfortunately, the half that’s become a demon. Perhaps… you could consider her the ‘id’, and I - Buttercup, the god and the superego. As you might imagine, considering our different demeanors…”

She tapped the side of her nose. “We’ve been seperated for a long, long time now. At this point, we’re almost independent beings.”

You stared at Buttercup, the towering mountain of questions inside you rendering you speechless. It was then that the Primus finally stood - or, well, a poor approximation of it, because he wobbled and, immediately, Many-Names had to leap in and catch him.

“...You okay?” They said, expression much gentler than before. You put your hand over your heart, where you could still feel traces of the passionate fire burning inside you, and, with it, that incredible sense of _hurt_. Of betrayal. It was… something you don’t think you’d ever have really been able to comprehend, had you not experienced it firsthand.

How powerfully he felt things…

“Fuck off,” he replied without much emphasis, and Many-Names laughed - though it was more hopeless than cheery.

“Well, you can’t be doing too bad, then.” They slung his arm over their shoulder and started helping him to the door. Honestly, it was startling to see - you couldn’t really imagine the Primus ever accepting help, but, despite his prickly manner… he really was leaning against Many-Names.

“I’ve fixed the damage she did,” he grumbled before looking back at Rust, who’d stopped to contemplate the the remnants of his work. “Coming?”

Her grin was wicked as she turned to follow. “Of course; I’d hate to see you sorry sods try to drive my car.”

“Sod. In the singular,” Many-Names corrected. “I’ll be staying behind. Need to clean all that up, after all, before anyone sees.”

“You expectin’ visitors? Thought you two kept everything quiet-like.”

“On our side. I wouldn’t be surprised if Queen Toriel wished to return here… or Captain Undyne.”

“Or Asgore,” the Primus grumbled, and Rust rolled her eyes.

“Do you ever shut up about him? It’s not his fault that some demon woke up cuz she wants to eat his people.”

“No, but it’s his fault for being a fucker. His saccharine _King Fluffybuns_ act is disgusting. Ugh. Now I want to vomit.”

“Have you ever considered that he’s… maybe not pretending?” Many-Names added, deciding - as usual - to poke the irritable bear.

This needling didn’t inspire too much of a response; the Primus’ voice was a bit hoarse from all the yelling. “Of course he’s pretending, you twit. Honestly, you should be more suspicious of people. You’re far too kind with your judgements.

“That’s fair, I suppose. I am friends with you.” They smiled, their tone light  - but as they all passed through the doorway, the Primus’ expression conveyed a distinct lack of amusement.

“That’s correct; you really need better taste if you call me a ‘friend’.”

“Oh, shut up. Sure, you’re an asshole, but you’re not that bad.”

Rust chose this moment to chime in. “You two gonna kiss or somethin’? Honestly, I’d pay to see that, an’ I’m cheap as a convenience store bathroom.”

“Wh -- _Rust --!_ “

“Hey, I’m just _sayin'_.”

“RUST….”

You moved to follow after Many-Names’ fading laugh, but Buttercup caught you by the arm, shaking her head. “I’m afraid that’s the end of that scene. It’s not really proper to follow actors when they go backstage.

“Huh? What do you mean?” You half turned to face her, and she reached out to suddenly tap your nose.

“I’ve shown you far more than you’d have seen on your own. Be happy with that.”

You flinched back instinctively, and it was then that your gaze dropped down, allowing you to finally notice the thing hiding behind the impressive volume of her skirts.

Or - more accurately…the person.

Once you’d seen him, the small monster child looked up at Buttercup - as if asking her permission - and then treated you to a bright (albeit still somewhat timid) smile. “H-Howdy! I’m Asriel. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

That name was familiar to you, though you couldn’t quite place it. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, too… but what do you mean? Finally?”

“We’ve been watching you a for a long time; ever since that thing you did with Doctor Gaster! It was really cool! And, um, I’ve been waiting for the chance to thank you…”

Very quickly, he seemed to relax around you, stepping out from behind Buttercup. He was a soft looking boy in a very literal sense, with gentle, goat-like features, downy, cream-colored fur, and a smile that was practically prince-like in its sweetness. “Thank me?”

He nodded firmly. “You saved my friends. Frisk, and - ...Chara. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Frisk and Chara…” you repeated, mulling over the names. “I have… a lot of questions about them both, I think.”

Asriel was about to open his mouth, but Buttercup stopped him with a motion of her hand. “Ones that I’m afraid we cannot answer. But there’s something else you want to know, isn’t there? Something only we can tell you.”

There was. “Why am I dreaming about the two of you?”

Buttercup splayed her fingertips over the silk of her chest. “Because, through the union of our wills, a miracle has occurred. Perhaps it would be easier to understand if I told you… that you’ve already met with someone like us before?”

Her smile was enigmatic, and something about her phrasing seemed familiar to you. “...Have you… both been split apart like Gaster?”

Buttercup turned, and with a wave of her hand, Castle Spaghorde was gone, and in its place was a familiar, endless expanse of white. “You’re correct - Asriel and I are scattered existences, though our circumstances are different from Doctor Gaster’s. My situation is obvious - I’ve been divided in two, and my people have rejected my rule so thoroughly that I’ve become… this. Asriel’s are, however… a little more complex.”

“I, uh,” he tapped his paws together. “--Am I allowed to say it? I mean - ”

She waved him on, and he looked up at you. “I died, but not quite. See, right before it happened, I’d… kind of… fused?” He twirled his paws around each other. “Yeah, fused, with a friend of mine. Chara. Because that happened, their Determination kind of… rubbed off on me? Except not really? I don’t really understand it, but because of a thing I’m-kinda-really-not-supposed-to tell you about, Chara was kept in the “real” world… but I… ended up here. Um. Kind of?”

You raised your eyebrows, hoping Buttercup would clarify some. “Due to some… meddling, Asriel was also split in two. What you see here is the majority of his soul, but circumstances have kept it from the pieces still lingering in the world you know, leaving him… well.”

“Don’t call that thing me,” Asriel murmured, crossing his arms. “That flower _isn’t me._ ”

Buttercup gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid he is, just a little bit. You see, Asriel is currently manifesting in the world you know as ‘Flowey’... a flower who, unfortunately, is a little lacking in the ‘empathy’ department.”

“I hate him. He’s _awful._ ”

She made a noncommittal sound, and then looked at you. “This is a place for scattered existences, though I’d warn you against thinking of it as a _location,_ per se. It’d be misleading.”

“Can… I put you back together, then? Like I did with Gaster?”

“Unfortunately for us, as you can see…” She twirled, her skirt ruffling slightly in the fake breeze she created. “The threads connecting us to what we once were have disappeared. To use your own analogy, we are broken vases who have _forgotten_ what they once were. There’s no ‘plan’ that the pieces of us remember; you’d have to make a new one… and that’s a bit beyond your power.”

A pause. “At the moment. My, your eyes really have turned a lovely color, haven’t they?”

You reached up, touching the sides of your sockets. “Uh, what’s up with that, anyway? Um… do you two have anything to do with it?”

“No. I’m afraid that the two of us are mostly just observers - but I think you can figure it out for yourself if you try.”

You squinted, a little frustrated by how unhelpful she was being. For some reason, she laughed suddenly.

“Fine, fine, I’ll give you a hint. Say there is a color that you can see… that only _you_ can see. It’s a color no one has ever heard of; it’s a color that’s never been written about in any books. You’d have no way of even knowing it exists unless see something of that color, right?”

“...Right,” you said slowly.

“...When you met Gaster, you suddenly were confronted with a completely new color - a very vibrant shade of it, too! - and… as you spent time connected to him, to that bright new hue… you started noticing the hints of it that were all around you this entire time. Call it… an awakening, perhaps?”

“Huh.” You contemplated your hands for a moment. “Wait -- Gaster! Is he okay? What happened to him?’

“You can find out now, if you’re done speaking with me. This dream can be over whenever you’d like.”

You hesitated, and felt a weird… pang in your chest, one you couldn’t quite describe. You wanted to see him very badly, but... “Will I ever get the chance to speak with you again?”

“You will, I’m certain, though not always when you will it. I suggest if you’ve got anything important to ask that you do it now.”

Immediately, you knew what to say - and you stood up straighter as you asked, “What do I need to know to save you?”

In that white void, there was a pause, and then a huge grin spread over Asriel’s face. “See? See? I told you! I _told you_ they’d say that!”

There was something like pride in Buttercup’s voice as she patted Asriel’s shoulder. “That you did, though I must ask… why?”

Your answer was confident. Immediate. “If your situation is _anything_ like Gaster’s… then I know you must be in a lot of pain. If I’m the only one who can see you two, then I’m the only one who can fix you - right? So I want to save you because you need to be saved.”

A single, silken finger tapped against your chest. “What you just said is all you need to know. Aegis of the Fallen Star, to save us - to save us _all_ \- you must do is be brave, bold, and kind - and, most of all, you must be _yourself,_ because you are filled with love. Understand?”

“Um…” You rubbed the back of your neck, embarrassed. “...That’s sweet of you to say, but I was honestly hoping for something a bit more specific.”

“Oh? I didn’t give you enough earlier?”

“...What do you - oh. You mean when… I was the Primus?” A pause. “Wait, how did you even _do_ that?”

“Oho.” She smiled behind her hand, tilting her head. “Most of my real power lies within Ranunculae, but I’ve got my little secrets. It’s all a matter of shifting one’s perception… or, perhaps it’d be easier to think of it like a forced epiphany?”

“...That’s… not really easier at all! But, uh…” You’d picked up on Buttercup’s rather unhelpful nature. “I’ll figure it out, I guess. I guess I still have some other questions about what I saw. The Primus… is using blood magic? To fix the Great Barrier holding Ranunculae at bay?”

“Yes. Few are aware of this, but when the monsters came to the surface, my other half awakened and has, since then, been actively trying to free herself. To prevent anyone from discovering the damage, your Primus has taken it upon himself to fix things by… any means necessary, as he put it.”

“And - there’s no one that can help him? Why does he have to do it alone? Um, what about - the “Dragons” they mentioned?”

She shrugged lightly. “You felt it, didn’t you? He doesn’t trust anyone, and I encourage you to think about why. You might discover something interesting.”

You crossed your arms, replaying everything over in your mind. “...So… wait, you showed me all that for a reason, right? And ...I guess it’s up to me to figure out why, huh?”

A smile. “You’ve got it.”

“Er, why, exactly? I can imagine this is about as much fun as being a mackrel in a pickle jar, so why not speed things up by telling me exactly what I need to do? Can you not, for some reason?”

“That is a fair deduction to make, yes.”

“It feels like you’re dancing around something...” you mused, and she offered a mysterious smile in reply.

“That’s an interesting thing to say.”

Perhaps you might have been annoyed, but that anxiety thrummed through you again. Gaster. Was he alright? Had he - where was he? Would you need to go find him? Would you need to go save him? Would you…. --

“Um!” Asriel interjected suddenly, his expression difficult, like there was some thought he was struggling with. “Can… Can I give them some advice, too?”

“Ah - yes, of course. It’s only fair.” Buttercup offered a slight bow, as if passing the spotlight to Asriel, and you banished those other thoughts for a short time. The least you could do was offer him your attention.

The boy balled up his fists at his side, as if trying to summon all of his courage and willpower. “Chara -- Chara’s really dumb sometimes! And… and so is Frisk, actually, and sometimes the both of them do things that… aren’t great. But! Please don’t think too badly of them!” He took a deep breath. “They’re good people! And, and I love them a lot! So - I… I think it might be good if you tried to love them, too! Even when they mess up… O-okay?”

Something about that warmed you inside. “...You miss them a ton, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Asriel said quietly. “I do.”

It was then that you kneeled, putting a hand across your chest like Phoenix used to before her king. “I promise you, I’ll make sure that you can meet them again.”

Asriel looked suitably impressed by your knightly demeanor, and he grinned. “I knew it. You’re really cool!”

You let out a bit of an awkward laugh, and pushed yourself up. “I do my best. If it’s alright… can I… wake up now?” Please? _Was he okay?_

“Yes, you may, and… as a parting suggestion…” She paused, tapping her mouth with a finger. “May I suggest that you take some time to rest? Not all problems can be solved with grand feats of heroism, and… well -- you’ll probably see what I mean, soon enough.”

You hoped so, because you didn’t right now. “I’ll… try to remember that.”

“Grand.” A single hand was placed on your forehead. “Now… close your eyes?”

You did so obediently, and the pair said their parting words in unison.

“Good luck!” and “Do your best!”

And - though no one said it out loud -

_Remember to always be kind._

 

* * *

 

 

Your first awakening was harried, delirious - full of quick, urgent words and bright light shining in your face. Water flowed down your throat and you swallowed instinctively, shying away from all the attention soon after. Vaguely, you heard someone speaking, and you responded in kind - though as you drifted off again, you had no recollection of what had actually been said, and it vanished into the mist of sleep.

Your second awakening was much more peaceful, gentle lamplight filtering in as your eyelids slowly cracked open. Blinking, you cleared the blurry gunk from your vision… and it felt like the world stopped, then, as your gaze met his.

Neither of you moved - neither of you breathed, even, until, without a word, you wrapped your arms around Gaster and heaved him on top of you.

_He was right beside you._

Gaster let out a few stuttered chimes, but they faded out soon enough as he eased himself down, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Your fingers hooked into the fabric of his turtleneck, and the pair of you stayed like that for a time, your nose against his shoulder and his breaths tickling your skin. He was _there,_ he was _alive,_ and you were almost afraid to move in case this was some sort of illusion that would shatter into dust at the slightest disturbance.

Which… it sort of was, but not in the way you expected.

A sudden realization struck through the moment, and Gaster quickly pushed himself off of you, his grey hued expression one of shock and prominent distress. “I - I-I’m sorry, are you - are you alright? Did I hurt you? Gosh, I was just - I’m sorry, you’ve certainly not healed enough for that - n-not that I should even be…!”

You stared at him, your hair fanned out on the pillow underneath you as you looked up with a dull expression. Slowly - like your joints were coated with rust - you raised your hand to his face, cupping it in your palm.

“Are you okay?” you asked, like the question encompassed your entire world.

Gaster quieted some. “...I am now. Are… you?”

“Yeah,” you said, and despite everything, it was true. “I am.”

The bed creaked slightly as he shifted, bending his arms and knees so he could touch his forehead against yours. “I was terrified that you’d never awaken, that I -- that I’d completely failed you. How do you feel? Is there anything you need? I can get you some water, or some food, or...”

There were a million things you needed - people you wanted to speak to, books you wanted to read, you wanted to ask about the Primus, about Chara, about Frisk, about… _everything_ that had happened, everything you didn’t know, but you didn’t say any of those things…

Because, in this moment, you couldn’t really think about anything beyond how _relieved_ you were to see him unharmed.  “Please don’t leave.”

“...Alright.” The word was quiet, muted, and with equally restrained movements, he changed his posture so he was lying beside you. “Are you in any pain? I’m certain I disturbed your injuries, earlier.

“None at all.” It was the truth - if he’d hurt you, you didn’t feel it at all, and, somewhat curious about it, you experimentally pulled up the shirt that’d been put on you. Gaster, let out another _ping,_ catching you by your wrist.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Seeing how bad off I am.”  You tilted your head to look at him properly, and your proximity to him meant that your faces were near close to touching. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Y-You, uh, I, you,” his voice had gone a bit high and funny. “Day. Days. I.”

His fingers were still wrapped around your wrist, like he couldn’t bring himself to move them - or… maybe he’d just forgotten? It wasn’t unpleasant - in fact, you liked the contact, and you claimed his hand with both of yours, clasping it between the two of you.

Gaster’s face had turned to the color of fresh ash. “I. You. I. Uh. I. I -- “

“Please don’t go,” you repeated - as if you needed to, as if he’d ever leave you (though you were a bit of a fool, and you probably didn’t realize that). Something about that sentence made Gaster relax - well, after a fashion - and, swallowing, he offered his reassurances.

“I won’t. I would never.”

You were so relieved.

“I’m here,” he said again, placing his other hand over yours and squeezing. “So… please. Don’t worry about anything. Alright?”

What did you have to worry about when he was _okay._

“Alright,” you managed, your voice sounding a bit odd and cracked to your ears. Gaster noticed it, and - without being able to help it - drew closer to you, winding a leg around yours.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’m fine - and, and so are you. Everything’s alright now, and - oh, come _here…_ ” Despite his earlier protests, he ended up practically on top of you again - though, this time, he’d curled himself around you in a way that… mostly avoided your injuries.

Not that you could feel them, even now.

He started murmuring things to you - encouragement, reassurances, promises that, yes, everything would be alright, you were okay, you’d be _okay,_ and… though you weren’t crying, he treated you like you were, rubbing a thumb across your face and promising the world to you.

For a while - you decided to forget everything else and stay like this. That dream of yours could wait awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're confused - the first part of the chapter has TB viewing things from the Primus' perspective - at least, until things get too freaky and they're like NO WAIT THIS ISN'T ME.
> 
> The actions, however, were definitely the Primus'!


	22. ...Hello? Hello...?

You stayed like that for a time, hair bleeding across the pillow as Gaster curled around you. Neither of you said anything although you both had so much to say, and, until the Primus returned, the world was quiet.

Never having really fully grasped the concept of subtlety, it was, despite being in another room, easy for you to hear the clamor at the entryway as the front door slammed open. “Klein! Stop _fretting_ , I’m fine! You can’t keep me trapped here if I don’t want to stay.”

While the good Doctor Klein shared a number of similarities to the ruler of the domain - that is, a propensity for irritability and a frightening work ethic - he did have a well-refined consideration for the sound barrier which, ultimately, obscured his reply. The Primus came through loud and clear, though. “Oh, _fuck off._ I may be an old coot, but I’m still kicking.”

“I guess they found him,” Gaster murmured to you, and you looked at him somewhat quizzically. “Oh, er, the… Primus snuck out to do some business, and Doctor Klein went to go look for him.”

Business, you thought to yourself, contemplating the nuances of the word. So… That dream really had happened. The Primus really was using blood magic to bolster a barrier that had weakened upon the arrival of the monsters.

You looked away from Gaster, staring at the glittering blue ceiling. The knowledge of it ached in your heart; for the Primus, who was driven to suffer… and for the monsters, whose innocent wonder came with such a high cost. You remembered Gaster’s joy at seeing the rain, and you mourned for the unfairness of it all. How could something so pure be a crime? Why did such innocent happiness have to be tarnished?

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right at all.

“Aegis…?” Gaster mumbled, and you flinched at the name, breaking your gaze away from the transfixing ceiling. He seemed a little startled at your reaction, pulling back so he could look at you. “Oh - um, does that… make you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, because you really didn't. You’d talked big to Buttercup, sure, but… hearing him say that name…

It reminded you of how much you’d messed up. How much you _could_ mess up. How you’d already proven that you couldn’t handle power, couldn’t handle responsibility… And how you were a doomed and damned person who should, honestly, just quietly live out their life. Leave the saving of the world to other people - to the true heroes.

What had you been thinking?

“...I like it much better than your other name,” he murmured, lightly touching his thumb to your cheek. “It fits you more.”

You made a noncommittal noise, finding the things you were feeling to be far too big and overwhelming to put into words. Gaster took your silence in stride, though there was a complicated, somewhat sorrowful expression on his face.

“If you don’t want me to use it, I won’t. But I don’t think you should be called Two-Bit, either. You’re… so much better than that.”

The topic of names brought forth another realization in you. Your eyes widened, and you felt your face heat up as you pushed yourself away from Gaster. “You... heard my name.”

“Er,” he paused, sitting up alongside you and looking over with clear concern. “Yes? I thought we discussed tha -- “

“Not Aegis. My - _real_ name! The one the Cerebrum used… to… “ You trailed off in distress, looking down at the bed-sheets gathered up around your legs.

She’d forced you onto your knees. She’d been about to kill you. Even after everything - even after she’d started the cult, even after she’d conducted the ritual that’d damned you all - you’d… in your heart, you’d still never really quite believed it, had you? You’d still… cared for her. You’d still hoped it was an accident - hoped that it was _your fault_ , that if you hadn’t messed up, she would have been alright, she would have still been alive, and…

...Though you said otherwise, though so many people had told you otherwise - hadn’t there been a place in your heart that hadn’t been bitter towards her? A part that remembered her fondly, a part that thought…

Despite what you said to people, that she might have been right?

You pressed your hands to your heart. You needed to kill that feeling, that affection. She was a bad person. You _knew_ that, you’d been _told_ that, and yet, even still, you were allowing yourself to be a fool who got lead astray. This was why you couldn’t be Aegis. This was why you had to be Two-Bit.

You were so idiotically _gullible._

“Hey,” Gaster said urgently, gently tilting your face to look up at him. “Shh, shh, don’t worry. I would never, _ever_ use it against you - I _promise._ I’ll - I’ll try to forget it, even. I know true names are special to you and your people, and I’ll respect that because I respect _you._ ...Okay?”

You met his gaze, and he cupped your cheek with a hand. You opened your mouth to say something, but stopped when his proximity brought a snippet of a memory back to you, crashing over you like a wave. Heat prickled over your skin, settling like droplets on the back of your neck and burning up your ears, and you found yourself unable to break your gaze from his.

He’d kissed you.

Gaster had kissed you.

Perhaps the circumstances brought that memory back to him as well, or perhaps it was simply a byproduct of the bond you two shared, but either way - he flushed as well, letting out a stuttering, “Um, er -- ah. Ah.”

The you stared at each other, a hesitant air born from your mutual attempts to discern the thoughts of the other. Or - perhaps you were trying to figure out your own feelings for the man before you? Because, despite having not known him for terribly long… his happiness was so, so precious to you in a way that you couldn’t really describe, and having him beside you, being able to see him smile, see him laugh, see him experience the world in all its grandness…

Had brought you a certain peace that you hadn’t felt in such a long time.

When you were with him, you could forget how awful and filthy you were. You could forget all the terrible things you’d done, you could feel like you had some _worth,_ because… You’d saved him. When he looked at you, you felt like you really were a hero.

He made you feel like you could do anything.

But… was that… right? Should you feel like that? Returning to your earlier worries - wasn’t it _better_ if you were Two-Bit? When he looked at you, you knew he saw Aegis. When he kissed you - you knew he’d been kissing Aegis.

Could you really be that?

Was it really right for you to be that?

Seeing your expression, his face fall a little, and you felt you had to speak even though you had no idea what to say. Your tongue felt so strange, so slow - like your mouth was filled with sand. “Gaster, I…”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, withdrawing and trying to give you a smile through the clear shame. “It was a tense moment, and I was overwhelmed. Please, don’t… worry about anything that happened.”

For a few moments, you tried making noises - and then, giving up, you reached out, suddenly splaying your fingers across his face. It was a strange whim, but maybe you could say with your hands what you weren’t able to with your mouth.

He went very, very still, not moving underneath your slow, exploratory touches. Gently - and with careful consideration- you ran your fingertips over his face, sliding them across the cracks marring his brow and cutting underneath his eye. It felt smooth, delicate, like porcelain in places, though the scars had a natural roughness to them. Touching his face was like feeling smooth glass or a polished river stone - but one that lived, felt, and you felt him shiver beneath you, his breath catching in his throat.

“Does it… hurt?” you asked slowly, suddenly worried that - perhaps - he felt residual pain from the marks.

“Nnn, no.” He tilted his head up as one of your hands slid down to his neck, and - face dusted a dark grey - he stuttered, “I, I…. Are you… do you…?”

Words failed you again, so you took one of his hands between yours, tracing a finger around the hole in his palm. Somehow, the gesture felt right, and you hoped he would be able to understand.

He didn’t - not completely - you could tell that from the vaguely lost look he gave you. But he laced his fingers through yours, and you stayed like that for a few minutes, holding onto each other’s hands.  It gave you enough time to eventually muster up a sentence.

“I feel like I’m lost in the woods, like I’m in the dark - and I’m not certain of anything at all.  But you’re...” You trailed off again, and then pressed the the backs of his fingers to his cheek.  _Please understand_ , you silently begged,  _because I don't._

He smiled at you, and - yes, it was worried, but it was also gentle, and you felt a little better having seen it. “That’s alright. I’m here, okay? You’re not alone, and… well. We can talk about all this later. For now, let’s focus on your recovery.”

You eased out a breath, trying to simplify things in your mind. One thing at a time, you told yourself. If you did things one at a time, maybe it’d all be easier to deal with, and it was then that the door cracked open, letting in a strip of light from the kitchen.

Gaster reflexively heaved himself away from you, scrambling over to the edge of the bed. “Ah, er - hello!" 

You remained as you had been, still and sitting up, and you looked from him to the woman in the doorway. An expression made of equal parts amusement and bafflement rested on her worn features before it shifted into concern as her gaze settled on you. “What in the name of Solomon’s temple are you doing up?” she chided, stepping forward in a rustle of sky blue fabric. “You’ve just woken up; you need your rest!”

“I feel fine." In regards to your physical condition, you were telling the truth. The pain that Gaster had been worried about had never come, and you felt fully confident in your ability to walk. But you felt so odd, so scattered - like it was a little hard to focus, like your thoughts were being tossed like stones, skipping briefly before plummeting to the unknowable depths. You flexed your hands, looking down at your palms, and felt like you couldn’t even find a place to start.

Before your eyes was an endless, mirrored lake, and you couldn’t discern where the sky ended and the water began.

The Azure Mother clearly didn’t believe you, but she didn’t force you to lie back down quite yet. “Well, at least you’re talking, now. We were worried; you weren’t very responsive when initially came too.”

You noticed an odd expression cross Gaster’s face, but it quickly unfurled into embarrassment at Azure’s next statement. “May I undress you? I need to check on your injuries.”

“Er... I suppose I'll go, then!” Gaster stood suddenly, taking long strides towards the door and reaching out for the handle like a desperate man.

Your reaction was sudden, and it slipped out without you even really thinking about it. “Stay. Please.”

He stopped at _stay_ and broke at _please,_ looking back at you with his fingertips hovering above the glossy surface of the doorknob. “Ah…”

You realized how unfair you were being. He was a modest man, and these weren’t the right circumstances to tease him about it, particularly since - oh. _Oh._ How... exactly how long had he… _liked_ you? “Sorry. Ignore that.”

He wasn’t going to, though, not when you’d made a request of him. “It’s fine, I can remain here,” he replied, sounding a little… timid.

Azure looked between the two of you, a somewhat amused smirk tugging at her mouth despite herself. While she couldn’t say she fully approved of this particular union, she was a nosy old biddy and completely unable to resist a little teasing. “Why - Doctor Gaster… you’re being oddly shy. You didn’t have a problem when you were helping us tend to the Primus and the Inquisitor.”

“That was an emergency!” Gaster defended, though it was more for your sake than hers considering you were the only one in the world who could understand him.

(Gaster froze suddenly, and you looked up at him, very, very thoroughly confused.)

“Well, turn your back, then, whatever makes you happy.” Azure shooed him away with her hand then reached out, taking the hem of the overly large shirt and easing it up over your chest. The dressing woven around your stomach were revealed, and you curiously eyed the blue marks covering the bandages.

“What is that? Purification?”

“Of a sort. We work our magic through the use of blue. Blue is holy, has been for thousands of years - and people pray to the sacred for miracles. Our designs don’t have meanings on their own... the magic is conveyed by the material.” She talked as she worked, and you could tell Gaster was listening too, though he had his back to the scene as he sat on the other edge of the bed.

You dipped your head into a nod, obeying her various instructions as you thought the matter over. “The bandages - they’re binds both figurative and literal?"

“Hmn?” She looked away from your torn flesh. “What was that?”

“You bless the bandages...” You trailed off, and - because she still didn’t seem to understand - you tried again. “...because… they bind flesh - and bind life? Through the material?”

“Oh! Rather than applying it directly to your skin, you mean? Yes, that’s one of the things we do, although it depends on the circumstances. There’s also certain rituals that work better if you treat the body like a temple and decorate it accordingly.” She leaned in, humming to herself as she checked on the health of the tissue. “We heal by manipulating materials. Enhancing how well our bandages and salves work, helping the body heal itself more effectively… You could think of it as transcendence, I suppose.”

“Like the sky.” You looked up again, and you became certain of something. “Can I go see it?”

Her eyebrows went up, and there was something a bit… cautious about her expression. Uncertainty, perhaps because of the strangeness of the conversation. “The sky, you mean?”

“I… want to be under the sun.”

She pursed her lips. “Are you certain? It’s going to be very uncomfortable to move.”

You stared at her, then suddenly pressed on the wound in your shoulder with your hand. “Wh - “ she stuttered, snatching at your wrist. “What are you doing?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Gaster snap his head towards you, but you were too busy staring at the palm of your hand properly notice. “It doesn’t… hurt at all,” you said distantly, flexing your fingers. “Should it?”

“Um.” This seemed a bit much for Azure, who gawked at you. “...Yes, er. Yes, that should be extremely uncomfortable. You don’t feel anything?”

You shook your head, and then - seeing how worried Gaster had become - you smiled. “...Well, that’s better than feeling a lot of pain… right?”

Azure didn’t reply, instead pushing a finger into your wrist. “Can you feel that?”

“The pressure? Yes.”

She shifted her hand, digging her fingernail into your skin. “How about that?”

A nod, and she continued. “Does it hurt?”

Without hesitation, you shook your head.

“...I see.” She withdrew her hand, a complicated expression on her face. “I’ll be right back. There are a few tests I’d like to do - oh, don’t worry,” she placated Gaster upon seeing his expression. “We expected some… oddities, there’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

This didn’t do anything to soothe him. “Are you - what’s wrong with them? Are they going to be alright? Is…” He looked at you, then, realizing he'd need you to translate.

“Gaster asks if I’m going to be alright,” you translated, and then added, “I feel alright. Can I go outside?”

“Er - “ she paused, then started helping you put your shirt back on. “We’ll see about afterwards. Are you hungry? Would you like anything more to drink?”

“...Not really,” you admitted, then lapsed back into silence. You didn't have long to think things over, though, because as soon as Azure left, Gaster crawled back over and eased you against him, his motions gentle but his grip desperate.

"Everything will be alright." His voice was rough, and it felt like he was saying it more for his benefit than yours. "It's going to be alright, it's just a few tests, and - you've been through quite a lot, of course some things would be... Off. It's not permanent. You'll be alright."

You nudged his shoulder lightly with your nose. "You shouldn't worry. I'm fine."

Gaster didn't reply to that, not really having enough energy to call you on your shit nor really wanting to think about all of the other possibilities. Instead, he thought of what Legbiter had told him, and he stroked your hair lightly, hoping that his affection would somehow reach your shattered soul. ...And - well. Even if it was permanent - it could be much worse, right?

Wasn't it much worse to lose one's happiness than to lose one's pain? Perhaps... he could even... count it as a blessing?

(Somehow, that thought felt very, very hollow.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sure absolutely nothing is wrong.


End file.
